LOVERS'  SAINT  RUTH'S 


SE    IMOGEN    GUINEY 


CO 


I vj 


LOVERS'  SAINT  RUTH'S 

And  Three  Other  Tales 


BY 

LOUISE    IMOGEN    GUINEY 


BOSTON 

COPELAND   AND   DAY 
MDCCCXCV 


COPYRIGHT  BY  COPELAND  AND  DAY  1895 


TO  CLARENCE  J.  BLAKE  AND  FRANCES 
H.  BLAKE,  A  BOOK  FINISHED  ON  THEIR 
OWN  WILD  ACRES  OF  THE  MAINE  COAST. 


October,  1894. 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE. 

THE  contents  of  this  book  have,  hith 
erto,  never  been  printed  nor  published. 
One  chapter  among  them,  'The  Provider, 
is  based  very  literally  on  a  tragic  thing 
which  happened,  some  years  ago,  in  Dub 
lin,  and  which,  figuring  as  a  cable  de 
spatch  of  some  ten  lines  in  a  Boston  daily 
newspaper,  fell  under  my  eye,  to  be  re 
membered,  and  afterwards  cast  into  its 
present  form.  In  the  September  (1895) 
number  of  Harpers'  Magazine,  little  Fa 
ther  Time  and  his  adopted  brother,  in 
Hearts  Insurgent,  end  their  innocent  lives 
from  Hughey's  strange  motive,  though 
not  in  his  manner.  It  is  perhaps  worth 
while  to  state  that  my  story  was  finished 
and  laid  by,  prior  to  the  appearance  of 
the  novel  in  its  serial  form,  lest  I  should 
seem  fain  to  melt  my  waxen  wings  in  the 


Contents 


Lovers'  Saint  Ruth's 

Our  Lady  of  the  Union  29 

An  Event  on  the  River  63 

The  Provider  93 


2  LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

me  better  than  ever  when  he  found  what 
genuine  interest  I  took  in  his  quiet  hid 
den  corner  of shire,  whither  I  came 

from  London  to  pass  a  memorable  night 
and  day  with  him,  after  a  sixteen  years' 
separation ;  for  his  boyhood  had  been 
spent  in  my  own  Maryland,  his  mother's 
family  being  Americans.  It  was  a  little 
sober,  pastoral  place,  this  Orrinleigh,  with 
its  straw-browed  cottages  bosomed  in  roses, 
sitting  all  in  a  row  upon  the  overshaded 
lane,  and,  from  the  height  where  we  stood, 
looking  like  so  many  sepia-tinted  mush 
rooms  in  the  broad  green  world.  Just 
beyond  us,  in  the  near  neighborhood  of 
Orrinleigh  House,  the  gray  sham-Grecian 
porch  of  his  ritualistic  Tudor  church 
skulked  in  the  faint  May  sun.  "What 
do  you  call  that?"  I  said.  cc  It  is  the 
one  ugly  thing  hereabouts."  He  smiled. 
"  Of  course  it  is  ugly,  structurally,"  he 
answered  in  an  apologetic  tone;  "  Saint 
Ruth's  was  built  in  King  James  the 
First's  time ;  I  do  not  pride  myself  on 
that.  But  you  should  see  the  ruin,  Hoi- 
den  !  a  darling  bit  of  Early  Decorated. 
Walk  over  there  now  with  me.  We  have 
the  time  to  give ;  and  it  is  only  a  couple 


LOVERS'  SAINT  RUTH'S.          3 

of  miles  away."  And  off  he  started  at 
his  brisk  bachelor  pace,  fixing  his  shovel- 
hat  well  on  his  forehead,  for  we  were  in 
the  teeth  of  the  inland  breeze.  "This 
enormity,"  I  remarked,  casting  a  sportive 
thumb  over  my  shoulder,  "has  an  odd 
name:  Saint  Ruth's."  He  corrected  me 
in  his  most  amiable  fashion.  "  The  title 
is  not  unique  ;  and  it  has  every  precedent, 
pre-Christian  as  it  is.  Have  you  never 
heard,  good  sceptic,  of  Saint  Joachim? 
nay,  of  Saint  Michael,  another  person 
who  might  have  proved  an  alibi  if  he  ever 
came  up  for  Roman  canonization  ?  Be 
sides,  the  name  has  ancient  local  sanction. 
This  Saint  Ruth's-on-the-Hill  continues 
the  dedication  of  the  other  to  which  we 
are  going:  Lovers' Saint  Ruth's."  "Lov 
ers'  Saint  Ruth's  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  keen  at 
the  scent.  "  Come  now,  Nasmith,  there 's 
some  legend  back  of  that ;  you  know 
there  is.  Let  us  have  it."  And  that  is 
how  I  heard  the  story. 

He  told  it  not  without  reluctance,  as 
if  it  were  a  precious  thing  he  could  not 
easily  part  with,  even  to  an  old  friend. 
All  along  the  road,  as  we  went  between 
the  pleasant  farm-lands,  stepping  over 


4  LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

golden  pools  of  primroses  between  the 
wheel-tracks,  little  silences  broke  into 
his  talk.  Nasmith's  heart  is  truly  in  the 
past;  and  humbly  happy  indeed  it  keeps 
him.  We  had  been  through  the  gallery 
before  breakfast,  and  he  reminded  me  of 
it,  by  way  of  prelude.  "  Do  you  remem 
ber  how  pleased  you  were  with  the  great 
Vandyck  on  the  east  wall  ? "  The  grouped 
portrait  of  a  blonde  man,  a  blonde  wo 
man,  and  a  child  unlike  either;  how 
beautiful  it  was !  the  two  unforgettable 
melancholy  faces  contrasting  oddly  with 
the  ruddy  dark-eyed  boy  in  a  yellow 
doublet,  playing  with  his  dog  before  them 
on  the  floor. 

cc  Well,  you  saw  there  the  Lord  Rich 
ard,  and  his  wife,  the  Lady  Eleanor.  He 
was  the  third  Earl's  only  son,  born  in  the 
year  1606.  The  house  of  Orrinleigh  was 
founded  by  his  grand-uncle,  on  murder 
and  fraud.  Richard,  almost  the  only 
Langham  with  a  conscience,  had  it  in 
too  great  a  degree,  and  grew  up,  one 
knows  not  why,  with  a  diseased  sense  of 
impending  retribution ;  and,  therefore, 
when  misfortune  for  a  while  overwhelmed 
him  and  his,  it  found  him  not  unpre- 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.  5 

pared.  His  mother  was  a  Neville  ;  he 
had  great  prospects  and  possessions. 
Lady  Eleanor  was  a  sweet  lass  of  hon 
orable  blood,  a  good  squire's  daughter, 
and  the  youngest  of  a  family  of  eight. 
She  belonged  over  there  in  Frambleworth, 
where  you  see  the  twin  spires.  From 
boyhood  and  girlhood  these  two  clung 
to  each  other.  I  wonder  if  one  ever 
sees  such  fast  love  now-a-days  :  so  sim 
ple,  so  deep,  so  long-suffering,  all  made 
of  rapture  and  grief!  They  were  be 
trothed  early,  with  a  kiss  given  under 
the  shadow  of  the  king  yew  in  the  old 
church-yard ;  they  both  cherished  the 
place  to  the  end,  and  there  lies  their  dust. 
You  see,  the  original  Saint  Ruth's  was  a 
monastic  chapel ;  and  it  was  stripped,  and 
left  to  fall  to  pieces,  by  the  greed  of  the 
rascally  Reformers,  (excuse  me ;  that 's 
what  I  must  call  them  !  "  muttered  my 
filial  High  Churchman),  "  and  it  was 
nearly  as  much  of  a  ruin  in  Lord  Richard's 
youth  as  it  is  to-day.  For  a  whole  gen 
eration,  Orrinleigh  had  no  Christian  ser 
vices  at  all,  and  dropped  into  less  than 
paganism  ;  for  which  nobody  seemed  to 
care,  until  the  architectural  hodge-podge 


6  LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

on  the  hill  was  raised  by  the  old  Earl, 
and  the  people  were  gradually  gathered  in 
to  learn  all  about  a  new  code  of  moral 
beauty  from  the  nakedest,  dullest,  and 
vulgarest  object  in  the  three  kingdoms. 
As  I  was  saying,  the  two  young  people 
made  their  tryst  by  the  priory  wall, 
secretly,  as  it  had  to  be ;  for  the  Earl 
would  not  hear  of  penniless  Eleanor 
Thurlocke  for  his  heir's  bride ;  and  the 
squire,  a  staunch  Elizabethan  Protestant, 
favored  young  Kit  Brimblecombe,  or  his 
cousin  Austin,  for  her  suitor,  and  held 
aloof  from  the  Lord  Richard,  whom  he 
suspected  of  having  reclaimed  his  ances 
tors'  faith  and  become  a  Papist,  while  at 
Oxford.  That,  as  it  happened,  was  true 
enough;  and,  moreover,  the  girl  herself 
had  followed  her  lover  back  into  the  old 
religion :  so  that  there  were  disadvantage 
and  danger  of  all  kinds,  in  those  days, 
behind  them  and  before.  The  little 
church  meant  much  to  them  both,  the 
pathetic  ghost  of  what  had  been  so  fam 
ous  and  fair.  There  they  used  to  meet, 
when  luck  served,  for  what  great  comfort 
they  could  still  reap  out  of  their  narrow 
ing  lives,  shedding  tears  on  each  other's 


LOVERS'   SAINT  RUTH'S  7 

breasts  over  that  outlook  which  seemed 
so  cruelly  hopeless.  But  a  terrible  trag 
edy  broke  up  and  changed  their  youth, 
and  it  was  at  Lovers'  Saint  Ruth's  that 
it  happened. 

"Eleanor  was  barely  past  eighteen,  and 
Richard  not  one-and-twenty.  It  was 
spring  twilight,  when  he  rode  down  alone 
to  the  valley,  galloping,  because,  for  once, 
he  was  a  little  late  to  meet  his  maid.  She 
also  had  started  on  foot,  across  the  dewy 
field-path  from  Frambleworth,  having  for 
company  part  of  the  way  an  old  market- 
woman  and  her  goodman,  who  would  not 
have  betrayed  the  object  of  her  journey 
for  worlds.  They  left  her  at  the  lonely 
cross-roads,  whence  she  gayly  took  her 
way  west,  with  Orrinleigh  Church,  as  it 
was  still  called,  almost  in  sight.  The 
next  morning  their  bodies  were  found, 
not  fifty  rods  away ;  and  it  is  clear  to  me, 
that,  hearing  Eleanor's  first  stifled  call, 
they  had  turned  back  to  her  rescue,  and 
so  perished  at  the  hands  of  the  wicked. 
With  whom  the  guilt  lay,  none  ever 
knew ;  the  blame  was  laid  upon  the  gyp 
sies,  I  think  unjustly,  and  three  of  them 
were  hanged  on  these  very  downs.  It  was 


8  LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

a  wild  time ;  and  desperate  men,  singly, 
or  in  bands,  mad  for  food  and  plunder, 
and  reeling  drunk  from  cellar  to  cellar, 
were  over  this  peaceful  county.  The 
squire's  ewe  lamb,  whom,  in  his  senses, 
a  devil  might  have  spared  with  a  blessing 
on  her  sweet  looks,  was  foully  waylaid, 
and  worse  than  murdered.  In  the  face  of 
agony  and  humiliation,  her  spirit  fainted 
away.  Hours  later,  when  all  was  still, 
and  the  dazzling  moon  was  up  over  the 
sycamores,  Eleanor  Thurlocke  awoke, 
and,  with  her  last  spasmodical  strength, 
dragged  herself  to  the  end  of  the  lane, 
and  on  to  the  hollow  stone  step  of  the 
church,  to  die.  It  was  past  midnight. 
Who  should  be  within  those  crumbling 
walls,  even  then,  but  her  own  Richard, 
kneeling  in  his  satin  dress,  with  a  lighted 
hand-lamp  by  his  side,  his  brow  raised  to 
Heaven?  He  had  missed  her;  and  he 
knew  not  what  to  think  for  disappoint 
ment  and  anxious  love  ;  and,  sleep  being 
far  from  him,  there  had  he  waited  until 
now  before  the  fallen  altar-stone  where 
they  had  so  often  prayed  together.  As 
dejectedly  he  swung  back  the  outer  door, 
he  saw  his  dear,  her  thick  gold  locks  un- 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.          9 

bound,  her  vesture  in  disorder,  her  hands 
chilled  and  bleeding  from  the  stony  travel 
and  the  briers.  Without  a  question,  for 
he  was  ever  a  ready  courageous  lad,  he 
put  out  the  lantern,  and  cast  it  under  a 
bush ;  and,  gathering  Eleanor  into  his 
strong  arms,  first  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross  upon  her  brow,  he  climbed  the  hill 
slowly,  steadily,  and  bore  her  straight 
into  Orrinleigh  House,  and  into  his  dead 
mother's  chamber.  He  made  no  sound; 
but  he  left  her  long  enough  to  get  restora 
tives,  and  then  hurried  back,  and  laid  her 
tenderly  in  the  high-canopied  bed  there, 
radiant  in  the  moonshine;  and,  keeping 
his  own  heart  smothered,  so  that  it  could 
utter  no  least  cry,  placed  the  door  ajar, 
and  began  to  pace,  soft  as  a  tiger,  to  and 
fro,  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  outside. 
When  the  white  of  dawn  appeared,  he 
crept  in  and  crouched  low  beside  the  pil 
lows.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and,  with 
his  haggard  cheek  close  to  hers,  stam 
mered  to  him,  piteously,  as  best  she 
could,  her  knowledge  of  what  had  be 
fallen.  He  did  not  speak  nor  move  for 
a  long  while,  partly  because  he  feared  so 
for  her  jarred  mind.  But  he  knew  the 


io         LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

house  would  be  stirring  with  the  day,  and 
events  lay  in  his  hands.  It  was  a  strange, 
inconsistent  thing,  but  entirely  in  har 
mony  with  the  Lord  Richard's  fatalistic 
character,  that  neither  then,  nor  ever  after, 
would  he  proclaim  the  true  fact.  To 
save  her  from  certain  slander,  to  wall  her 
in  with  reparation  on  every  side,  was  his 
one  passionate  impulse.  He  knew  that 
having  carried  her  by  night  to  Orrinleigh, 
he  must  bear  the  burden  of  his  own  deed. 
He  made  his  resolve  to  explain  nothing, 
for  her  sake,  and  to  act  as  became  the 
overmastering  affection  he  had  for  her. 
He  breathed  quickly  and  firmly  in  her 
ear:  ( Nell  !  '  She  smiled  faintly  at 
him.  'Nell,  darling,  this  must  be  our 
bridal-morn/  A  low  groan,  such  as 
made  him  shiver  like  the  air  around  a 
fire,  was  her  only  answer;  such  a  heart 
rending  groan  of  pure  unreasoning  hor 
ror  as  his  ears  had  never  heard.  But  he 
could  not  flinch  now ;  the  morn  was 
breaking,  fresh  and  undelayed,  over  his 
altered  world.  With  the  still  force  which 
was  in  him,  and  which,  from  his  boyhood, 
could  compel  every  one  he  knew,  the 
Lord  Richard  said:  'Yes.'  <  Yes  !  '  she 


LOVERS'  SAINT  RUTH'S.        u 

echoed,  after  a  while,  as  if  in  a  weary 
dream,  and  fell  unconscious  again.  Then 
he  rose,  and  called  old  Stephen  Bowles, 
the  servant  whom  he  could  best  trust, 
and  despatched  him,  on  his  own  horse, 
ere  the  sun  was  up,  for  a  priest  eleven 
miles  away.  And  there,  in  his  dead 
mother's  chamber,  with  one  only  witness, 
and  in  such  wretchedness,  the  two  were 
hastily  wed,  Eleanor  lying  quietly,  since 
they  dared  not  raise  her,  and  the  hope  of 
Orrinleigh  kneeling  with  his  curly  bronze 
head  buried  in  her  white  little  hands. 
When  the  others  had  gone,  for  he  had  set 
himself  much  to  do,  he  sought  his  father. 
Sealing  his  lips  thenceforward  against  the 
mystery  which  had  hurried  his  action,  he 
spoke  out,  and  told  him  he  had  married 
Eleanor  Thurlocke,  and  that  he  hoped 
he  might  be  forgiven  if  he  had  seemed 
undutiful ;  and  before  the  old  Earl,  who 
was  dressing,  could  show  his  rage,  quietly 
walked  away,  and  rode  over  to  Framble- 
worth,  and  made  almost  the  same  speech, 
in  Eleanor's  behalf,  to  the  squire.  Such 
wrath,  and  curiosity,  and  excitement,  and 
upbraiding  were  never  in  this  neighbor 
hood  before;  for  the  two  young  people 


12          LOVERS'   SAINT   RUTH'S. 

lived  in  the  eyes  of  many  who  wished 
them  well,  and  who  looked  for  a  great 
wedding,  with  masques,  and  dancing,  and 
holiday  arches,  and  public  largesses  of 
drink  and  money,  such  as  had  riot  been 
in  mid-England  for  a  generation.  Won 
derful  as  it  seemed,  the  turmoil  soon 
passed;  and  the  two,  never  stirring  from 
the  very  heart  of  the  disturbance  and 
opposition,  somehow  lived  on,  and  were 
not  parted,  and  slowly  established  a  peace 
with  their  angry  kindred.  Malice  itself 
could  not  hold  out  long  against  the  Lord 
Richard's  winning  ways  ;  and  ever,  as  he 
grew  older,  he  became  sadder  and  gentler, 
and  more  to  be  honored  by  all  men.  But 
the  Lady  Eleanor  lost  the  merry  laughter 
she  once  had,  and  shrank,  in  great  mis 
trust,  even  from  her  own  family,  so  that 
it  was  plain  at  times  that  her  reason  was 
shaken.  None  on  earth,  meanwhile,  save 
the  lovers  themselves,  held  the  clew  to 
their  blighted  lives.  He  never  left  her  ; 
he  never  travelled,  nor  went  to  court,  as 
became  his  station,  but  sat  patiently 
awaiting,  at  home,  the  crowning  distress 
which  he  now  knew  must  come  upon 
them.  Gossip  broke  out  again,  ere  long, 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.        13 

as  much  as  it  dared,  in  the  village  tav 
erns ;  and  there  was  a  lifting  of  willing 
eyebrows  among  the  gentry  dwelling  near, 
when,  in  the  autumn,  the  incarnate  disas 
ter,  the  child  in  the  Vandyck  picture, 
was  born.  They  rang  the  joy-bells  from 
the  church-tower,  and  the  tenantry  came 
under  the  eaves  and  cheered  until  faithful 
old  Stephen  threatened  them  with  his 
blunderbuss,  and  drove  them  away.  The 
Earl  was  sitting  at  his  cards,  with  his  bad 
foot  on  a  stool  before  him,  when  the  Lord 
Richard  came  in,  with  a  silken  parcel  in 
his  arms,  followed  only  by  a  couple  of 
his  sniffing  hounds.  c  Well,  what  hast 
thou  there,  Dick?'  cried  the  big  bluster 
ing  man,  not  unkindly.  *  Father,'  said 
the  young  stricken  Lord  Richard,  in  his 
impassioned  fidelity,  holding  the  parcel 
forth,  *  I  have  my  son.'  And  there 
upon  such  a  mortal  paleness  came  upon 
him,  and  his  knees  shook  so  under  him, 
for  the  deceit,  that  he  scarce  could  stand. 
Seeing  him  quake,  the  old  Earl,  a  rough 
jolly  creature  in  his  better  moods,  laughed 
long  and  loud. 

"  And  so  it  seemed  to  the  only  ones 
who  sat  tongue-tied  amid  the  great  rejoic- 


14         LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

ing,  as  if  the  divine  wrath  had  indeed  spent 
itself  upon  their  house;  the  doom  of  the 
iniquity  of  the  forefathers,  as  the  Lord 
Richard  would  say  to  himself.  What 
fresh  and  mistaken  thinking  there  was  to 
do,  the  miserable  lad,  being  sane,  did  for 
both,  believing  that  a  curse  was  upon 
them,  and  that  they  must  endure  it,  and 
accept  the  torture  of  that  alien  child's 
presence  for  some  purpose  hidden  from 
human  eyes.  Their  pact  and  horrible 
habit  of  silence  weighed  upon  their  hearts; 
and  had  not  one  constrained  the  other, 
she  was  very  fain  at  times  to  confess,  and 
go,  if  needs  be,  into  disgrace  for  the  lie. 
They  would  wander  sometimes  on  the 
terrace,  hand-in-hand,  without  speech, 
looking  like  brother  and  sister  under  a 
common  ban.  It  seems  impossible  to 
understand  this  deliberate  choice  of  a 
wrong  attitude  towards  life,  except  in  the 
light  of  that  mysticism, 

'With  shuddering,  meek,  submitted  thought,' 

which  ruled  the  Lord  Richard's  nature. 
Meanwhile  the  infant  changed  to  a  noisy, 
bounding  rogue  with  black  eyes,  whom 
his  young  mother  hated.  They  called  him 


LOVERS'  SAINT  RUTH'S.         15 

Ralph,  a  name  not  borne  before  by  any 
of  the  Langham  race.  From  his  cradle, 
the  poor  waif  clung  to  the  Lord  Richard, 
as  to  his  only  friend;  and  that  saintly 
soul,  as  one  might  take  sweetly  a  bitter 
penance,  reared  him  in  right  ways,  and 
encouraged  or  chided  him  at  need,  and 
won  from  him  an  awe  and  gratitude  affect 
ing  to  see.  But  the  Lady  Eleanor  would 
never  have  him  so  much  as  touch  her 
gown,  which  the  maids  about  the  manor 
laid  to  her  troubled  wits,  and  felt  sorry 
for,  without  more  ado.  The  old  Earl, 
who  liked  the  boy's  health  and  pluck, 
had  the  portrait  painted  for  the  gallery  ; 
and  even  there  you  will  notice  that  Ralph 
is  far  away  from  her,  and  at  her  husband's 
feet.  Years  of  dereliction,  therefore,  these 
were  to  the  Lord  Richard,  having  no 
child  of  his  own,  and  watching  his  intrud 
ing  heir  gaining  daily  some  virtue  and 
seemly  knowledge,  and  coming,  either  by 
nature  or  by  his  careful  breeding,  fully  to 
deserve  those  things  to  which  he  had  no 
right  before  God  and  the  king.  And  the 
boy  grew,  and  was  worthy  to  be  loved,  so 
brave  he  was,  and  so  truth-speaking,  and 
so  tractable,  despite  his  fits  of  temper. 


16         LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

When  he  had  passed  his  tenth  birthday, 
he  was  sent  to  Meldom  School ;  and  his 
first  absence  lifted,  as  it  were,  the  black 
load  from  his  mother's  spirit ;  and  the  be 
ginning  of  her  recovery,  after  all  that  she 
had  endured,  was  from  that  day.  There 
came  soon  to  her  and  the  Lord  Richard 
an  unexpected  happiness ;  for  the  year 
1636  saw  the  birth  of  their  own  little 
Vivian.  You  may  believe  that  his  father, 
perplexed  by  the  fresh  aspect  of  the  prob 
lem  before  him,  tried  to  solve  it  by 
prayer  and  patience ;  the  good  heart, 
chastened  ever  with  much  sorrow,  and 
melted  away  with  thinking,  thinking. 
His  wife,  free  of  his  morbid  scruples, 
cried  out  at  last  irresistibly  for  the  vin 
dication  of  her  little  one.  But  the  Lord 
Richard  was  visited  by  a  prophetic  dream, 
and  was  wrung  with  misgivings,  less  like 
a  man's  than  a  woman's,  in  searching  to 
divine  his  duty.  For  he  foresaw,  of  a 
surety,  in  his  sleep,  what  a  poor  vicious 
thing  his  son  was  to  be.  All  the  estates, 
being  entailed,  were  to  pass  to  the  ac 
knowledged  eldest,  passing,  therefore,  by 
unjust  consent,  in  this  case,  to  an  inter 
loper,  to  the  detriment  of  the  true  in- 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.         17 

heritor;  and  to  maintain  Ralph's  right 
would  be  a  legal  crime.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  great  power  and  responsibility 
of  which  he  promised  to  make  such  fair 
use,  —  what  if  these  should  become,  in  the 
hands  of  that  other  to  whom  they  would 
be  intrusted,  engines  for  havoc  in  the 
world,  since  then  to  disown  Ralph  were 
a  moral  crime?  Lord  Richard  wrestled 
hard  with  his  demon  of  doubt,  to  no 
avail.  In  good  time,  alas,  as  it  was  or 
dained,  when  Vivian  was  a  bonny  babe 
in  his  third  summer,  the  unforeseen  de 
liverance  came.  Ralph  Langham  was 
thrown  from  his  pony  at  Long  Meldom 
Cross,  and  brought  home  for  dead.  He 
never  spoke  a  word,  but  passed  to  eter 
nity  with  his  fingers  clasped  tight  on  the 
Lord  Richard's  compassionate  hand,  and 
a  great  tear  rolling  down  his  round  brown 
cheek.  His  short  career  had  been  like  a 
cheerful  cloud  swimming  in  the  sun,  and 
itself  casting  damp  and  darkness  on  the 
hills  below.  The  strangest  thing  of  all 
was  the  ungoverned  joy  which  came,  at 
the  news,  upon  the  Lady  Eleanor,  a  joy 
dreadful,  at  that  time,  to  those  about; 
but  when  it  faded  away,  all  the  evil  else 
2 


1 8          LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

linked  with  it  seemed  to  fade  too,  and 
very  shortly  she  was  wholly  restored,  and 
became  her  own  comely,  gracious  self 
again,  even  as  she  was  when  first  the 
beardless  Lord  Richard  had  told  her  his 
love.  So  that  the  liberty  of  those  hunted 
young  spirits  was  established  in  the 
grave  of  him  whom  heraldry  yet  names 
as  their  first-born.  They  laid  him  yon 
der,  in  Lovers'  Saint  Ruth's.  Where  else 
but  there?  as  if  in  unuttered  thanksgiving 
that  mercy  had  reached  them  at  last  upon 
its  fatal  threshold.  There  is  the  tower, 
Holden,  and  the  broken  top  mullion  (is  it 
not  graceful  ?)  of  the  great  west  window." 
We  swung  into  the  prettiest  open  space 
imaginable,  close  to  a  glassy  lake,  and 
found  the  fourteenth-century  church,  with 
its  yews  and  leaning  stones,  before  us. 
I  went  silently  in  at  Nasmith's  heels. 
The  flooring  was  the  perfect  plush  of 
English  grass;  the  roof  of  the  nave  was 
living  boughs.  For  a  single  huge  ash- 
tree  had  rooted  itself  there  generations 
ago,  and  grown  much  larger  round  than 
our  four  arms  could  span,  and  lifted 
its  spread  of  leaves  nearer  heaven  than 
the  level  of  the  walls.  Ivy  hung  on 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.         19 

the  chancel  arch,  and  many  bright- 
colored  wildflowers,  whose  seeds  had 
lodged  in  the  crevices  and  in  the  blank 
windows,  filled  the  whole  enclosure,  bay 
after  bay,  with  a  riot  of  color  and  fra 
grance.  Soft  green  daylight  everywhere 
caressed  the  eye.  The  chancel  roof,  of 
exquisitely  groined  limestone,  was  still 
unfallen,  though  it  had  a  rift  or  two;  and 
on  either  side,  where  the  monks'  stalls 
must  have  stood  a  dozen  deep,  there 
were  crumbling  tombs,  with  effigies  in 
alabaster.  I  went  directly  up  one  step  to  a 
plain  small  brass  over  against  the  piscina, 
and  pushed  the  weeds  aside.  Nasmith 
knew  I  should  not  be  able  to  decipher  the 
inscription,  on  which  the  rain  of  three 
hundred  summers  had  been  sifted  in. 
Leaning  his  head  against  one  of  the  piers, 
a  good  distance  down,  he  looked  over  at 
me,  and  began  to  recite,  in  an  agreeable 
monotone  :  "  c  Here  lieth  Ralph,  thirteen 
years  old,  heir  while  he  lived  to  Orrin- 
leigh  and  Gaynes ;  whom  do  thou,  O 
Lord  !  receive  among  the  innocent. 

For  Time  still  tries 

The  truth  from  lies, 

And  God  makes  open  what  the  world  doth  blind. 


20         LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

A.  D.  1639.'  Do  you  recognize  the 
verse  ?  Robert  Greene's.  The  choice 
of  it  was  so  significant  it  must  have  been 
the  Lord  Richard's  doing.  You  will 
notice  that  the  epitaph  is  sensitively 
worded ;  it  is  pure  fact,  and  nothing  else; 
and  it  has,  too,  an  affectionate  sound 
which  has  always  been  a  sort  of  satis 
faction  to  me."  "How  immensely  dra 
matic  the  upshot  might  have  been  if  he 
had  lived!"  I  said.  "The  poor  little 
fellow,  infelix  natu^  felicior  morte."  I  was 
astonished  to  find  a  slight  mist  over  my 
eyes.  "Tell  me  of  these  others  next 
him,  Nasmith :  a  knight  and  his  lady 
side  by  side,  recumbent,  and  therefore 
pre-Reformation."  Nasmith's  slow,  radi 
ant,  indulgent  smile  was  upon  me,  as  he 
moved  forward  from  the  light  to  where  I 
stood.  "  No,"  he  said.  "  Look  at  the 
armor  and  the  fashion  of  the  dress,  not 
at  the  attitude,  which  is  unusual,  of 
course,  for  the  Caroline  period.  Those 
are  the  blessed  twain  of  whom  I  have 
been  telling  you.  See!  "  He  pointed 
to  the  discolored  raised  Latin  text  which 
ran  around  the  wide  slabs  beneath.  I 
traced  it  out.  "  Pray  for  the  souls  of 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.         21 

Richard  Esme  Vivian  Langham,  Vis 
count  Gaynes,  and  of  Eleanor  his  adored 
wife,  neither  of  them  ripe  in  years,  who 
together,  in  this  venerable  sanctuary, 
suffered  calamity,  and  sought  repose  in 
Christ."  There  were  no  dates.  I  waited 
for  Nasmith  to  go  on.  He  did  so,  in 
that  tone  of  grave  personal  interest  which 
he  reserves  for  these  "old,  unhappy,  far- 
off  things." 

"They  had  to  lead  very  private  lives, 
on  account  of  their  proscribed  creed; 
a  constraint  which  to  them  was  not 
unwelcome.  Their  good  works,  how 
ever,  were  known  over  the  whole  coun 
tryside,  which  is  loyal  to  their  memory. 
She  was  the  first  to  die,  in  1640,  con 
tracting  a  fever,  and  fading  gradually 
away.  There  were  two  young  children 
to  remember  her  and  take  pattern  after 
her,  (would  that  they  had  done  so!) 
Vivian  and  Joan.  When  the  civil  wars 
began,  the  old  Earl  was  feeble  and  near 
his  end;  and  the  Lord  Richard,  whose 
principles  and  natural  sympathies  were 
all  for  King  Charles,  joined  the  unani 
mous  Catholic  gentry,  and  sought  with 
eagerness  the  only  use  that  seemed  left 


22         LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

to  him.  His  bright  beloved  presence 
graced  the  camp  but  a  little  while,  for  in 
his  thirty-seventh  year  he  was  killed  at 
the  second  battle  of  Newbury,  while  car 
rying  the  royal  standard.  They  brought 
him  back  to  the  old  chapel  where  he 
wished  to  be  buried,  and  where  none  of 
his  house  have  been  buried  since.  Both 
these  figures  were  made  under  his  own 
eye,  when  his  wife's  dust  was  laid  below. 
Are  they  not  nobly  and  delicately  wrought, 
and  full  of  rest  ?  His  hand  holds  hers; 
he  had  always  said  they  should  lie  so, 
as  his  namesake  king  and  Anne  of 
Bohemia,  long  ago,  lay  in  the  Abbey  at 
Westminster.  The  ruin  has  taken  its 
traditional  distinctive  name  of  Lovers* 
Saint  Ruth's  from  them.  All  my  parish 
maids  steal  in  on  Hallowe'en  to  kiss  these 
joined  hands,  and  wish  themselves  good 
fortune,  and  hundreds  of shire  sweet 
hearts  have  plighted  their  troth  here, 
under  the  stars.  It  has  always  been  a 
place  of  pilgrimage,  though  its  full 
history  is  not  even  guessed  at.  Saint 
Ruth's-on-the-Hill,  my  friend,  can  never 
buy  or  borrow  such  a  charm  as  this." 
As  he  paused,  we  heard  the  plaintive 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.        23 

interruptive  note  of  a  pair  of  wood-doves 
in  the  ash.  He  looked  at  me  again.  "  I 
forgot  to  say  that  they  were  content  to 
die,  my  martyr  hero  and  heroine  of  Orrin- 
leigh,  for  they  had  won  four  years,  at  the 
end,  of  absolute  unbroken  bliss.  They 
used  to  come  down  here  every  evening  for 
a  talk,  or  a  hymn  to  Our  Lady,  arm  in 
arm,  and  happy  as  children  all  the  way. 
Their  day  of  storms  was  brief,  and  it  had 
a  lovely  sunset/'  "Ah,  Nasmith,"  I 
exclaimed,  like  a  sentimental  girl,  "  I 
am  glad  of  that.  How  did  you  know  ?  " 
He  drew  his  foot  idly  through  the  soft 
sward  as  he  spoke.  "  I  had  the  whole 
story  in  the  Lord  Richard's  own  hand. 
He  wrote  it  out  during  the  last  night  he 
spent  at  the  manor,  with  his  spurs  and 
sword  lying  by  him  ready  for  the  mor 
row  :  the  whole  tender,  tragic  story,  with 
his  curious  mental  struggles  laid  bare. 
He  thought  the  truth  due  to  his  father, 
and  to  his  dead  stainless  Eleanor,  to  clear 
her  memory  from  erring  rumor  which 
had  early  got  abroad.  The  manuscript 
was  put  away  under  a  seal ;  and  as  soon  as 
his  son's  will  was  opened,  the  Earl  knew 
where  to  find  it ;  I  have  seen  it  all  scorched 


24         LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

and  stained  with  the  old  man's  tears. 
No  eye,  from  his  to  mine,  has  read  it 
since.  You  see,  the  next  and  fourth  Earl, 
Vivian,  grew  up  a  graceless  cynic  repro 
bate  in  London,  never  visited  his  estates, 
and  cared  nothing  for  his  lineage.  His 
sister  was  little  better.  I  ought  to  spare 
her  and  her  second  husband  any  vitupera 
tions,  since  they  did  me  the  courtesy  of 
becoming  my  great-great-great-great-grand 
parents  !  Did  I  never  tell  you  ?  The 
Langhams,  bad  enough  in  the  beginning, 
have  been  a  worse  crew  than  before,  since 
the  Lord  Richard's  time.  Almost  'every 
inch  that  is  not  fool  is  rogue/  as  Dryden 
says  of  his  giant.  Francis,  the  ninth  of 
the  line,  lately  dead,  and  his  Countess, 
being  my  very  distant  relatives,  and  im 
pressed  with  my  virtues,  which  were  then 
being  wasted  on  the  desert  air,  offered  me 
the  benefice.  The  first  thing  I  did,  after 
setting  Saint  Ruth's  in  order,  was  to  look 
about  for  materials  for  a  history  of  the 
parish  from  a  period  before  the  Conquest. 
During  the  summer,  they  put  a  world  of 
papers,  grants,  charters,  registries,  and 
so  on,  into  my  way,  which  had  been 
heaped  in  some  old  chests  in  the  tool- 


LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S.         25 

house.  One  of  these  papers  was  that 
letter,  a  pearl  in  sea-kelp.  I  took  it 
promptly  over  to  Orrinleigh.  The  Earl 
was  in  his  hunting-coat,  swearing,  over 
his  glasses,  at  some  excellent  Liberal 
news  in  his  morning  journal.  "  Read 
this,"  I  said;  "  it  is  one  of  your  ancestral 
romances,  and  ought  to  be  reverently  pre 
served."  He  laid  it  by.  A  few  days 
afterwards,  while  I  was  gathering  fruit 
and  vines  for  a  Harvest  Sunday,  he 
pulled  it  from  his  pocket,  and  threw  it 
at  me  over  the  garden  wall,  remarking 
that  as  my  reverend  appetite  was  for 
musty  parchments,  he  did  not  know  but 
what  I  had  best  have  this  one,  especially 
as  his  wife  and  niece,  having  glanced  at 
it,  would  not  give  it  house-room  !  So  I 
had  the  keepership  of  that  mournful 
secret  of  the  Lord  Richard's  wonderful 
love  and  patience,  which  came  near  alter 
ing  the  local  annals  I  was  to  write.  It 
was  like  the  unburied  dead;  it  tormented 
me.  Not  one  of  those  vulgarians  to 
whom  it  really  belonged  was  fit  to  touch 
it,  much  less  understand  it;  and  I  did 
not  wish  to  add  it  to  any  collection,  mine 
or  another's.  I  hesitated  a  good  bit,  and 


26         LOVERS'  SAINT   RUTH'S. 

then  I  stole  off,  on  a  chilly  Martinmas 
eve,  and  piously  burned  it  here  in  Lovers' 
Saint  Ruth's,  on  this  tomb,  and  scattered 
the  ashes  into  the  grass."  A  gust  of 
wind  came  into  the  choir,  and  the  clock 
half  a  mile  away  struck  one.  At  the 
sound,  we  reached  for  our  hats,  which  we 
had  instinctively  laid  aside,  and  crossed 
the  little  transept  to  the  door,  Nasmith 
first,  I  following,  as  we  had  entered. 
Once  more,  as  we  left  the  porch,  dark 
with  ivy  and  weather-stains,  we  heard  the 
wood-doves,  over  our  heads  in  the  nave, 
utter  a  slow  musical  moan,  one  to  the 
other.  "  Their  souls,"  I  whispered  sud 
denly.  "  Peace  to  all  such,  after  pain," 
said  poetic  Cyril.  "Amen"  I  answered. 
We  both  smiled.  How  we  two  were 
enjoying  our  renewed  society,  back  in  a 
bygone  England ! 

Hardly  had  we  gained  the  road,  when 
a  carriage  rolled  by,  with  a  single  figure 
on  horseback  clattering  alongside.  A 
black-bonneted  girl  in  mourning,  hand 
some,  if  furtive,  under  her  parasol,  and 
both  her  companions,  the  younger  of 
whom  sat  beside  her,  saluted  Nasmith  in 
what  I  thought  to  be  a  cold,  perfunctory 


LOVERS'   SAINT   RUTH'S.         27 

manner.  I  guessed  something,  for  his 
honest  cheek  flushed.  "  I  fear  these  are 
the  great  folk  of  Orrinleigh,"  I  remarked. 
"  The  men  have  selfish,  stupid  faces, 
more's  the  pity."  "Yes,"  hereplied;  "you 
have  seen  some  of  the  Lord  Richard's 
degenerate  descendants.  I  once  meant  to 
give  his  manuscript  to  Audrey  —  to  the 
young  lady  in  the  carriage.  I  hoped  she 
might  value  it.  But,  as  I  said,  I  de 
stroyed  it  instead.  You  are  the  only  per 
son  to  whom  I  ever  repeated  the  tale,  and 
almost  in  the  original  words.  Go  put  it 
in  a  book,  if  you  like,  Holden  ;  make 
what  you  can  of  it;  develop  and  pro 
portion  it ;  I  trust  your  handling."  I 
thanked  him.  "  No.  Your  chivalrous 
Cavalier  is  too  complex  a  subject  for 
me,"  was  my  frank  reply  ;  "  I  feel  safer 
with  a  history  than  with  a  mystery."  I 
was  a  hardened  republican  novelist  even 
then,  and  his  senior,  and  not  blind  to  the 
"human  document,"  neither  of  the  seven 
teenth  century,  nor  of  the  nineteenth. 
"  Nasmith,"  I  began  cunningly,  "  you 
were  in  love  with  the  Honorable  Audrey, 
and  she  refused  you.  How  fortunate  for 
you  !  Yours  was  the  neatest  and  most 


28         LOVERS'   SAINT   RUTH'S. 

spiritual  revenge  I  ever  heard  of:  to  keep 
from  her  what  might  have  helped  trans 
form  her  woman's  nature,  stifled  in  an  ill 
atmosphere, —  the  knowledge  that  she  was 
of  the  blood  of  the  saints, 

'  Tho'  fallen  on  evil  days, 
On  evil  days  tho'  fallen,  and  evil  tongues/  " 

He  gave  my  hand  a  half-humorous  pres 
sure,  his  head  turning  neither  to  right  nor 
to  left,  dear  old  Nasmith!  He  must  be 
past  forty  now,  and  they  tell  me,  more 
over,  that  he  is  a  Benedictine  monk  at 
Downside  :  he  will  care  nothing  what  I 
say  of  him.  And  thus  we  climbed  the 
balmy  downs,  back  to  our  lunch  at  the 
vicarage,  without  another  word. 


OUR    LADY   OF   THE    UNION. 

THE  Surgeon  and  the  Chaplain  had 
been  bidden  to  roast  beef  and  mashed 
potatoes  in  the  great  tent;  and  the  former, 
leaving  its  pleasant  firelight,  had  come 
out  through  the  night  air  a  little  before 
taps,  to  spread  himself  and  his  triumphs 
in  the  eyes  of  the  officers'  mess.  The 
Surgeon  was  a  widower  in  his  early  prime, 
and  tenderly  condescending  to  the  known 
ways  of  women.  He  talked  much  of  the 
two  who  in  that  camp  represented  all  in 
scrutable  womankind,  Miss  Cecily  Car 
ter  and  Mrs.  Willoughby.  They  had 
come  from  New  York  on  a  visit,  Brale- 
ton  being  just  then  in  profound  quiet. 
The  Surgeon  adored  Miss  Cecily,  in 
which  mood  he  was  by  no  means  alone ; 
but  he  had  his  own  opinion  of  her  sister, 
the  Colonel's  wife.  <c  The  Sultan  has 
hinges  in  him,  and  can  unbend,"  he 
would  say;  "  but  the  Sultana  —  O  Jeru- 


30     OUR  LADY   OF  THE   UNION. 

salem,  my  Happy  Home !  "  He  had 
also  discovered  that  the  train  of  trunks 
at  the  sutler's,  objects  of  deep  and  inces 
sant  objurgation,  were  hall-marked  "  A. 
W.,"  and  that  Miss  Cecily  came  to  the 
war  with  one  hand-bag.  His  auditors  sat 
long  astride  their  chairs,  each  in  his  hood 
of  good  government  tobacco-smoke.  The 
Adjutant's  silver-coated  hound  was  asleep 
on  the  boards,  still  as  a  little  mountain- 
tarn  among  thunder-clouds.  The  gusts 
of  genial  mirth  were  suddenly  interrupted 
from  without  by  the  even  voice  of  the 
orderly:  "  Sergeant  Blanchard  is  wanted  at 
the  Colonel's  quarters." 

A  young  man  playing  chess  in  the 
corner  arose  at  once,  and  followed.  All 
along  the  company  streets,  the  lamp-light 
streamed  through  the  chinks  in  the  tents  ; 
charming  tenors  and  basses,  at  the  far 
end,  were  laying  them  down  and  deeing 
for  Annie  Laurie ;  and  from  the  long  sheds 
nigh,  in  the  grove,  came  the  subdued 
pawing  and  tossing  of  the  horses.  Robert 
Blanchard  saluted,  and  stood  outside  in 
the  dark,  for  the  Colonel  was  in  his  door 
way.  "  They  have  sent  another  com 
mission  for  you/'  he  said  shortly.  "You 


OUR   LADY  OF  THE   UNION.     31 

deserve  it ;  your  behavior  has  been  ad 
mirable,  a  source  of  immense  pride  to  me, 
and  to  all  my  men."  The  Sergeant  looked 
at  him  with  a  visible  gladness.  "  I  thank 
you.  You  know  I  prefer  not  to  be  pro 
moted."  "  I  have  humored  you  no  fewer 
than  three  times  before,"  resumed  the 
Colonel,  in  an  altered  tone;  "  I  can't  do 
it  always.  You  are  known  ;  the  General 
has  complimented  you.  The  rise  of  a 
man  of  your  stamp  can't  be  prevented, 
even  by  himself.  You  are  meant,  if  you 
live,  to  move  rapidly,  and  go  high.  This 
second-lieutenantship  is  the  lowest  step  ; 
mount  it,  in  Heaven's  name,  and  don't 
maunder." 

The  other  hesitated,  silent.  Then  he 
said :  "  May  I  have  my  condition,  if  I 
accept,  —  may  I  remain  color-bearer?  "  "  I 
can  promise  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  fear 
it  would  be  unusual,  to  say  the  least;  it 
has  no  precedent  in  any  service  that  I 
ever  heard  of.  Don't  ask  me  that  again." 
Blanchard,  in  sober  fashion,  brought 
his  hand  to  his  cap.  fc  Good-evening, 
Colonel."  The  superior  officer  was  exas 
perated.  "  Bob,"  he  exclaimed  discur 
sively,  "you're  a  fool.  God  bless  you  !" 


32      OUR   LADY   OF  THE    UNION. 

The  drums  began,  quick  and  light ;  it 
was  nine  o'clock.  The  Sergeant  went 
back,  cheerful  as  Cincinnatus  refusing 
empery.  Before  he  confided  himself  to 
his  blanket,  lumped  on  boughs,  he  made 
sure  that  a  fold  of  old  bunting  on  a 
provisionary  stick  was  slanted  securely 
against  the  canvas  ;  for  he  had  a  senti- 

O 

mental  passion  for  the  flag.  When  it 
was  hauled  down  at  sunset,  it  went  into 
his  hands  until  daybreak.  He  had  borne 
it  in  the  van  since  his  first  bloody  day  at 
Little  Bethel ;  it  had  been  riddled,  stained, 
smoke-blackened,  snapped  from  its  sup 
port  ;  but  he  had  never  dropped  it,  not 
when  a  minie-ball  fizzed  through  his 
shoulder,  not  when,  fresh  from  the  hos 
pital,  he  had  fallen  face  downward  from 
his  dying  horse,  in  Beauregard's  plung 
ing  fire  of  shell.  In  this  lad  of  twenty- 
two  there  burned  a  formal  loyalty  so 
intense,  so  rooted  in  every  fibre  of  his 
grave  character,  that  his  comrades,  for 
whom  military  routine  had  lost  much  of 
its  glamour,  loved  him  for  it,  envied  him, 
and  consistently  nagged  the  life  out  of 
him  with  the  nickname  of  Our  Colored 
Brother,  and  other  nicknames  based  on 


OUR   LADY   OF  THE   UNION.       33 

other  puns  more  or  less  felicitous.  Be 
cause  in  New  York,  they  had  several  dear 
friends  in  common,  the  Colonel,  on  the 
morning  of  the  ladies'  arrival  at  Braleton, 
had  asked  him  to  lunch  with  them. 
"  My  Sergeant,  Adela,"  so  James  Wil- 
loughby,  in  his  eagles,  presented  him  to 
the  wife  of  his  bosom,  "  my  Sergeant ; 
and  such  a  Sergeant!"  For  he  read  in 
her  tacticianary  social  eye  that  a  Sergeant 
was  a  minnow  indeed  for  a  Colonel's 
friend  and  guest,  even  if  he  were  a  gen 
tleman,  a  cousin  of  the  Windhursts,  and 
the  hero  of  his  corps.  And  she  won 
dered  at  him  the  more  that  he  should  be 
a  mere  color-bearer  ;  a  spirited  able-bodied 
creature  two  years  in  the  army,  with 
nothing  to  show  for  it !  He  had  no  ex 
planation  to  give  her,  but  he  had  an  un 
accountable  hunger,  from  the  first,  to 
confide  his  secret  to  Cecily.  He  had 
seen  her  from  a  distance,  and  his  heart 
stood  still  there  in  the  grass  ;  when  he 
came  nearer,  it  gave  him,  for  a  certain 
reason,  the  veriest  wrench  in  all  his  life, 
such  as  True  Thomas  may  have  felt 
when  the  sweet  yet  awful  call  came  to 
him  at  last  in  the  market-place,  that  it 
3 


34      OUR   LADY   OF  THE   UNION. 

was  time  to  say  good-bye  to  earth,  and 
go  back  to  fairyland ;  to  leave  for  the 
things  which  can  never  be  the  things 
that  are.  He  often  found  her  sewing 
on  a  silken  tri-color,  and  working  its 
correct  number  of  stars  in  a  pattern. 
She  had  begun  it  in  her  father's  house, 
for  her  brother-in-law's  regiment,  and 
none  too  soon,  for  the  flag  in  use  was 
aging  fast.  Robert  Blanchard  never  saw 
her  head  bent  over  that  bright  glory,  rill 
ing  her  lap  and  falling  around  her  feet, 
without  a  tightening  of  the  throat.  And 
when  she  nodded  to  him  going  by,  with 
that  candid,  affectionate  grace  which  never 
changed,  it  reminded  him  inevitably  of 
something  which  made  him  happy  and 
unhappy.  He  could  not  remember,  he 
said  to  himself,  when  he  had  not  loved 
her,  and  yet  they  had  never  met  until  this 
Virginian  winter  of  1863. 

Cecily  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  a  wee 
log-house  built  for  her  as  an  ell  from  the 
Colonel's  tent,  delighting  much  in  its  fru 
galities  and  small  hardships.  She  was  be 
coming  attached  to  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  camp-life :  the  tags  and  tassels,  the 
shining  accoutrements,  and  the  endless 


OUR   LADY   OF  THE   UNION.       35 

scouring  and  brushing  thereof;  the  rosy 
drummer-boy;  the  company  drills  in  the 
rain  ;  the  hollow  pyramids  of  the  stacked 
short  bayonets ;  the  muddy  wells  on  the 
bluish andreddish  lowlands;  the  loud  sing 
song  of  the  little  bearded  Corporal  inter 
ruptedly  reading  David  Copperfield  to  a 
ring  of  enraptured  privates  ;  the  welcome 
drone  of  the  cook  announcing  his  menu  ; 
the  arrival  of  despatches,  with  the  thunder 
ing  and  jingling  of  the  cavalry  heard  a  mile 
away ;  even  the  occasional  alarms.  The 
long  inactions  under  McClellan,  hateful 
to  her  mettlesome  brother-in-law  and 
to  his  men,  proved  pleasant  enough  to 
Cecily  ;  she  never  lacked  entertainment. 
While  Adela  was  at  her  accurate  toilets, 
and  the  Colonel,  a  severe  disciplinarian, 
busy  with  his  troops,  she,  active  and 
curiously  adventurous,  walked  or  rode 
about  alone. 

The  nine-hundred-acred  Brale  house 
topped  the  hill  not  far  away;  the  owner, 
a  fine  old  planter,  lived  there  with  the 
survivors  of  his  family.  Six  months 
before,  an  infantry  regiment  had  biv 
ouacked  on  the  place.  A  lieutenant, 
sent  on  the  reasonable  suspicion  that  a 


36      OUR   LADY   OF   THE   UNION. 

number  of  escaped  Confederates  were  har 
bored  on  the  premises,  clattered  up,  with 
an  escort,  to  demand  them.  The  eldest 
son,  with  true  sullen  Confederate  pluck, 
refused  him  admission.  After  no  long 
parley,  the  infantry  lieutenant,  losing  con 
trol  of  himself,  shot  him  dead:  a  pro 
ceeding,  which,  when  it  came  to  the  ears 
of  the  authorities,  cost  the  bully  his  com 
mission.  The  two  other  sons,  Julian  and 
Stephen,  were  then  in  the  Southern  army; 
the  younger  had  since  perished  from  fever. 
To  this  doomed  and  outraged  household, 
shut  in  from  the  world,  hopelessly  embit 
tered  against  the  Government  in  whose 

O 

name  murder  and  devastation  stalked, 
Colonel  Willoughby  appeared  as  a  new 

and  strange  being;.      He  made  it  his  busi- 

11 

ness  to  see  that  there  were  no  trespass- 
ings,  and  that  the  Brales  lived  not  only 
in  peace,  but  in  comfort.  He  rode  out 
repeatedly  to  the  picket-lines,  where  a 
goodly  quantity  of  commissary  supplies, 
spirits,  flour,  tobacco,  tea,  and  coffee,  and 
divers  other  necessaries  difficult  to  ob 
tain,  were  handed  over  to  the  slaves  in 
exchange  for  the  chickens,  milk,  and  eggs. 
On  several  occasions,  he  had  ridden  as  far 


OUR  LADY  OF   THE   UNION.     37 

as  the  door,  once  to  give  the  married 
daughter  her  pass  through  the  lines;  once 
to  bring  her  little  girl,  who  was  ill,  some 
delicacies  sent  in  a  hamper  from  his  own 
home.  These  things  broke  the  proud 
Brale  hearts.  They  barely  thanked  him; 
his  Federal  uniform  was  like  a  dagger  in 
their  eyes.  But  a  while  ago,  when  they 
heard  that  his  wife  and  his  sister  were 
coming  to  Braleton  from  the  north,  the 
stately  old  squire  had  sent  him  a  royal 
gift,  with  a  short  letter  in  the  style  of  the 
last  century.  The  gift  was  Molly,  the 
beautiful  black,  famous  all  over  the  coun 
try  for  her  strength  and  speed;  and  on 
her  back  was  a  saddle  of  magnificent 
workmanship,  with  a  movable  pommel, 
which  might  be  adjusted  to  suit  the  ladies. 
While  these  were  in  camp,  therefore,  the 
Colonel  rode  Messenger,  his  stocky  sor 
rel,  and  Adela  or  Cecily  sat  majestically 
enthroned  upon  the  majestic  Molly.  The 
former  was  a  horsewoman  of  experience, 
erect,  neat,  orthodox,  approved  of  con 
noisseurs  everywhere.  But  the  regiment 
was  in  this,  as  in  other  things,  all  for  the 
favorite;  and  when  she  came  in  sight, 
(with  the  dare-devil  mare  going  it,  six  leaps 


38     OUR  LADY  OF  THE  UNION. 

to  a  mile,)  lying  flat  forward,  like  her  own 
cavalrymen,  with  breathless,  laughing  face, 
and  hair  shaken  loose  along  Molly's  mane 
like  the  sun  on  a  torrent,  —  such  a  cheer 
as  would  go  up  from  the  distracted  Elev 
enth  !  Cecily  and  Molly,  in  the  tingling 
pine-odorous  Braleton  air,  made  a  famil 
iar  and  joyful  spectacle. 

South  from  the  mansion  lay  an  Episco 
pal  chapel,  now  dismantled,  with  a  squat, 
broad,  mossy  roof  pulled  down  over  its 
eaves  like  a  garden-hat ;  and  around  it 
spread  the  small  old  churchyard,  with  its 
stones  neck-deep  in  freshening  grass  and 
clover.  From  this  point  there  was  a  most 
lovely  view  over  the  melancholy  land 
scape,  silvered  midway  with  a  winding 
stream.  Hither  Cecily  loved  to  climb, 
tying  Molly  in  the  copse  below,  to  lie 
upon  the  shaded  escutcheoned  tomb  of 
one  Reginald  Brale,  "borne  in  Salop  in 
olde  Ingland,"  and  to  muse  long  and 
happily,  forgetful  of  battles,  on 

"The  great  good  limpid  world,  so  still,  so  still ! " 

She  and  Robert  Blanchard  had  had 
much  constant  companionship;  it  was 
natural  that  these  musings  should  turn 


OUR   LADY  OF  THE   UNION.     39 

much,  and  indeed  more  and  more,  upon 
him.  Surely,  he  was  like  no  one  else ; 
and  his  presence  gave  Cecily  a  sense  of 
infinite  rest.  She,  too,  had  her  obedient 
energies  and  controlled  fervors.  A  great 
crisis  like  this,  holding  great  issues, 
brought  the  two  so  sensitive  to  it  very 
near  together.  She  felt  under  her,  even 
as  he  did,  the  tide-wave  of  patriotic  emo 
tion,  sweeping  the  more  generous  spirits 
from  all  our  cities  out  upon  its  fatal 
crest.  She  had  seen  the  companies  march 
ing  to  the  front  through  awe-stricken 
crowds,  watched  for  the  bulletins,  worked 
for  the  hospitals,  heard  the  triumphal 
never-to-be-forgotten  eloquence  and  music 
sacred  to  the  returning  dead  at  home,  and 
felt  to  the  full  the  heartache  and  enthu 
siasm  of  all  the  early  war.  These  things 
had  formed  her,  pervaded  her,  pro 
jected  her  out  of  herself,  and  brought  her, 
lingeringly  a  child,  into  thought  and 
womanhood.  Before  she  knew  herself 
for  an  abolitionist,  the  day  of  Sumter 
swept  over  her  like  a  flood,  and  diverted 
all  the  little  idle  streams  of  her  being. 
Her  brothers  found  her  against  the  old 
tree  in  the  garden,  the  newspaper  in  her 


40     OUR  LADY   OF   THE   UNION. 

hand,  like  one  entranced ;  and  one  of 
them,  soon  to  devote  his  youth  to  the 
cause  of  Michael  against  Lucifer,  for 
bade  her  being  teased  to  account  for  her 
mood.  Unlike  Robert,  Cecily  came  of  a 
soldier  race,  and  from  swords  drawn,  each 
in  its  generation,  at  Naseby,  at  Brandy- 
wine,  at  Monterey.  That  fortune  seemed 
good  to  her  which  had  led  her  to  Vir 
ginia,  a  ground  balancing  in  the  scales 
of  fate,  and  rich  already  with  hallowed 
graves.  To  the  living  men  about  her, 
she  was  as  march-music  never  out  of  their  > 
ears,  to  hold  them  to  their  vows.  Sub 
dued  from  common  cares,  Cecily  was  in 
the  current  of  the  national  peril,  inspir 
ing  and  inspired,  and  open  to  every 
warmth  and  chill  of  it  as  if  it  were  indeed 
her  own. 

She  was  on  the  hills,  reading,  in 
balmy  February  weather,  when  she  be 
came  aware  of  a  low  whinny  at  her  ear. 
The  Brale  paddocks  were  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fence.  A  young  colt  was 
there,  startled  and  timid,  stretching  to 
wards  her ;  then  another  came  as  near, 
and  another,  and  the  heads  of  the  older 
horses,  confiding,  appealing,  crowded 


OUR  LADY  OF   THE  UNION.     41 

over  these.  She  patted  their  tremulous 
nostrils,  divining  instantly  that  something 
had  occurred  to  alarm  them.  She  raised 
herself  from  Reginald  Brale's  venerable 
slab,  and  listened  ;  the  sharp  ping!  ping! 
of  blank  cartridges  struck  the  oak-leaves 
on  her  left.  Standing,  and  peering  down 
the  steeper  side  of  the  incline,  she  saw 
the  familiar  moving  glitter  of  gold  braid, 
far  below ;  and,  stripping  a  bough,  and 
knotting  her  handkerchief,  she  made  a 
signal  of  distress,  and  waved  it  vigor 
ously.  The  shout  that  followed  told  her 
that  danger  was  over,  both  for  the  gentle 
intelligent  creatures  in  the  enclosure,  and 
for  her ;  the  reports  ceased.  A  moment 
after,  a  man  sprang  over  the  churchyard 
wall  from  the  road.  It  was  the  Sergeant, 
more  excited  than  he  dared  show. 

"Miss  Carter!"  His  heart-thuds  made 
it  hard  for  him  to  be  punctilious.  "Are 
you  hurt?  Idiots  that  we  were  to  choose 
this  place!  We  might  have  known.  Tell 
me  you 're  not  hurt,  Miss  Carter."  "I 
am  not  hurt  at  all,"  she  answered  gayly, 
"nor  even  frightened.  It  was  these  dear 
four-legged  'rebs'  who  were  frightened." 
She  slipped  her  book  in  her  pocket,  and 


42     OUR  LADY   OF  THE   UNION. 

took  up  her  gloves  and  the  dainty  whip 
which  Molly  had  never  felt,  save  when  it 
flicked  a  fly  from  her  ear.  "You  are  a 
brave  soul !  "  the  Sergeant  said.  Cecily 
took  refuge  in  the  significant  flippancy  of 
gamins:  "You're  another!  "  which  was  so 
apposite  that  they  both  laughed.  As  they 
descended  the  rough  foot-path,  the  Ser 
geant  longed  to  offer  his  arm ;  but  he  knew 
her  stoicisms,  her  natural  physical  savoir- 
faire,  and  he  chivalrously  refrained.  How 
nimble  and  graceful,  how  fawn-like  she 
was  !  He  noted  the  wide  lace  collar  and 
the  brooch  at  her  chin  ;  the  sober  Gordon 
plaid  gown,  not  too  long;  the  firm  lit 
tle  wrist ;  the  beautiful  hair  parted,  and 
looped  low. 

"  What  were  you  doing  just  now  ?  " 

"A  party  of  us  were  enjoying  our 
selves,  shooting." 

"  Birds  ?  "  in  a  cold,  regretful  tone. 

"  Birds  !  No.  A  soldier,  unless  he  is 
spoiling  with  garrison  idleness,  won't  waste 
his  genius  for  killing  on  innocent  birds 
and  their  like.  Besides,  the  artillery  fel 
lows  over  yonder  have  scared  them  away 
from  the  whole  neighborhood.  We  were 
target-shooting  with  pistols.  Oh,  if  you 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  UNION.    43 

knew  the  hot  coals  and  icicles  I  had  to 
swallow  when  I  recognized  you  up  there !  " 
He  looked  ahead,  and  saw  with  joy  that 
his  companions  had  departed.  "  Here  is 
Molly,  and  my  bay  is  behind  the  rock. 
May  I  ride  home  with  you  ?"  He  helped 
her  to  mount,  and  sprang  into  his  own 
saddle.  The  lonely,  lovely  earth  and  sky 
were  theirs  together ;  they  went  slowly, 
slowly  down  to  the  ford.  Molly  was 
thirsty,  or  else  perverse;  for  she  paused, 
lowered  her  aristocratic  little  head,  and 
began  to  drink.  Presently  Saladin,  the 
bay,  standing  by  her  on  the  brink,  did 
the  same  ;  and  the  two  riders  sat,  perforce, 
conscious  of  their  like  silent  sympathy 
and  society.  An  impulse  rushed  on  each 
to  lean  over  towards  the  other  also,  to 
lay  cheek  to  happy  cheek  over  the  shal 
low  water,  in  their  youth,  in  the  sun. 
The  Sergeant  stiffened  himself  with  an 
effort. 

"Although  it  is  a  holiday,"  he  said, 
scanning  the  distance,  cc  and  although 
there's  no  end  of  jollity  afoot,  greased 
poles,  football,  leap-frog,  hurdle-races, 
and  all  that  —  and  did  you  know  that 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  escorted  by  the  Colonel 


44     OUR  LADY   OF  THE  UNION. 

and  the  Adjutant,  had  gone  for  the  day? 
There  are  to  be  charming  diversions  at 
the  infantry  camp,  and  a  ball  to  wind 
up  with.  You  were  asked,  too,  I  hear; 
but  you  missed  it,  straying  off  to  your 
hermitage." 

(( I  am  glad  I  did  !  Please  finish  your 
sentence." 

<c  Oh,  I  forgot.  I  was  going  to  add 
that  this  sort  of  relaxation,  just  now, 
might  be  risky,  when  Old  Glory  and  I 
may  be  ordered  out  before  morning  to 
waltz  to  fife-music  !  " 

"A  battle?  Do  you  truly  think  it 
likely?" 

"  I  half  believe  it.  I  don't  mind  tell 
ing  you  I  have  a  premonition  of  it,  in 
volving  another  premonition  regarding 
myself.  But  what  of  it?  Our  old  friend 
Cicero,  I  think  it  was,  used  to  say  that 
we  are  born  not  for  ourselves,  but  for  the 
Republic."  He  laughed,  as  if  he  had 
said  a  jocund  thing.  He  had  not  meant 
then  to  test  her  feeling  for  him ;  but  he 
had  allies  in  the  hour  and  its  emo 
tion.  Cecily  rejoiced  in  his  cheerful 
acceptances,  and  remembered  her  imper 
sonal  pride  in  the  circumstances  of  his 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  UNION.     45 

enlistment,  of  which  she  had  heard  on  all 
sides  at  home.  Her  voice  fell,  unawares, 
into  its  shy  inflections,  its  little  wild  spon 
taneous  minors,  as  she  said,  seeing  the 
horses  rear  their  heads  :  "  Will  you  please 
tell  me,  Sergeant  Blanchard,  how  you 
came  to  join  the  army  ?  All  that  I  know 
is  that  you  were  abroad,  and  that  you 
gave  up  your  pleasure,  and  came  back." 

He  began  quietly,  as  they  passed  the 
stream  and  made  for  higher  ground  : 

"It  is  quite  a  story.  I  was  off  on 
a  tour  through  India  and  Egypt,  with 
my  college  chum,  my  dear  old  Arthur 
Hughes.  Neither  of  us  had  any  notion 
of  returning  home,  and  we  were  in  the 
middle  of  the  best  time  two  fellows  ever 
had  on  this  earth,  when  I  had  a  queer 
sort  of  warning.  We  were  both  curled 
up  on  the  window-sill  of  my  room,  in 
our  hotel  at  Cairo,  one  hot  night,  sleep 
less,  and  enjoying  a  smoke.  Suddenly, 
above  the  street,  among  the  shadows 
and  spangled  points  of  all  those  near 
domes  and  pinnacles,  I  saw  what  I 
thought  was  our  national  flag,  hanging, 
hardly  stirring.  It  seemed  to  spring  up 
out  of  nothing,  in  its  familiar,  varied 


46     OUR   LADY  OF  THE   UNION. 

colors,  to  startle  my  eye.  Then,  in  a 
moment,  I  perceived  that  it  was  no  flag, 
but  a  living  spirit,  a  genius,  a  guardian 
angel,  whatever  you  like  to  call  it, 
which  bore  the  oddest  resemblance  to 
one.  There  before  me  was  the  dreamiest 
figure;  a  tall  beautiful  young  woman  in 
a  helmet,  the  moon  shining  on  the  little 
spike  of  it.  A  long  blue  veil,  bluer  than 
the  atmosphere,  covered  her  face,  and  was 
blown  about  her  shoulders,  not  so  heavy 
of  texture  but  that  the  jewels  in  her 
flowing  hair  flashed  through  it  with  won 
derful  lustres  ;  and  her  garment  fell  away 
in  long  alternate  whites  and  reds,  like  the 
liquid  bars  we  sometimes  see  flushing 
and  paling  in  our  own  sky  in  the  north, 
when  the  aurora  borealis  comes  in  the 
March  evenings.  There  she  floated  many 
minutes  before  fading  away ;  and  once 
she  raised  her  veil  and  beckoned,  and  her 
eyes  dwelt  on  me  so  imploringly  that  they 
have  become  more  real  to  me  than  any 
thing  else  in  my  life.  I  tell  you  it  shook 
my  heart.  .  .  .  Miss  Carter,  if  you  will 
allow  me,  I  must  say  that  the  vision  was 
like,  was  very  like,"  —  the  Sergeant 
choked  a  little,  —  "  like  you.  When  I 


OUR   LADY  OF   THE   UNION.     47 

first  saw  you,  I  was  so  startled,  it  gave 
me,  well,  almost  a  swoon.  That  is  a 
novel  word,  and  ludicrous,  perhaps,  but 
I  can  use  no  other.  At  any  rate,  the  re 
semblance  has  drawn  me  towards  you,  I 
can't  say  how  strongly  or  how  much. 
Please  forgive  me."  For  Cecily's  wild- 
rose  face  was  warm. 

"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  Arthur. 
But  when  I  turned  to  clutch  him  in  my 
excitement,  my  first  glance  told  me  that 
he  had  not  seen  the  phantom,  and  that 
he  would  deride  my  faith  in  it.  So  I 
tried  to  laugh  off  my  sudden  attack  of 
second-sight;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  I 
dropped  into  silence  when  it  was  my  turn 
to  speak,  and  abandoning  presently  the 
effort  to  seem  indifferent,  I  parted  from 
him,  and  went  to  bed. 

"  It  was  the  only  ghostly  thing  that 
had  ever  happened  to  me,  and  it  im 
pressed  me  tremendously.  For  my  part, 
I  could  get  no  rest  by  day  or  night ;  that 
influence  was  over  me  like  a  bad  star.  I 
racked  my  brain  to  explain  it  by  natural 
agencies,  and  it  only  set  me  thinking  the 
more  of  our  blessed  country  being  in  some 
terrible  trouble.  When  I  came  to  that,  I 


48     OUR  LADY   OF  THE  UNION. 

jumped  up  and  started  for  the  bath,  to 
cool  off,  and  then  changed  my  mind,  and 
struck  first  for  the  ticket-office.  Whom 
should  I  knock  into  on  the  way  but  old 
Arthur  in  his  fez,  fierce  as  a  lion.  '  Bob/ 
he  said,  dragging  me  into  a  booth,  c  it 's 
war,  war  !  President  Lincoln  is  calling 
for  men,  and  I  'm  going  home  to  spite 
the  devil.'  '  There  's  no  choice.  I  am 
going  home  anyhow/  I  said.  *  What 
news  is  there  ? ' 

cc  The  little  which  had  travelled  that  far, 
I  heard  from  him.  Sumter  was  being 
fired  upon,  on  the  nth  of  April,  1861, 
when  I  saw  Our  Lady  of  the  Union.  I 
call  her  that ;  but  I  never  spoke  of  her 
to  Arthur,  or  to  any  one.  Before  June 
set  in  we  arrived  in  New  York,  and  we 
volunteered.  Arthur  has  distinguished 
himself  right  and  left.  He  is  in  Ander- 
sonville  now,  dear  fellow.  I  should  hate 
to  end  there." 

"  A  martyr  is  a  martyr ;  the  place  mat 
ters  nothing,"  the  girl  replied. 

<c  I  know,"  he  said;  <c  I  did  not  mean 
to  speak  lightly;  but  I  am  one  of  those 
who  cannot  always  avoid  it  when  they 
feel  much." 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  UNION.     49 

The  Sergeant's  cheeks  were  burning 
too,  and  he  quickened  his  pace.  Cecily 
did  not  speak,  following  the  bounding 
bay.  But  a  loneliness  which  she  could 
not  define  came  upon  her ;  a  resent 
ment  of  the  sacred  ideal  which  could 
yet  be  to  her  friend  his  divinity,  his 
beauty,  his  bride,  in  a  world  from  which 
she  was  shut  out  as  an  irrelevance.  And 
almost  as  soon,  she  questioned  herself 
whether  because  of  a  tie  dearer  than 
the  human,  this  golden-hearted  Robert 
must  lose,  she  in  him  must  lose  —  what? 
For  answer,  the  noble  and  foolish  tears 
welled  up  from  the  depths,  and  fell  into 
the  folds  across  her  knee.  Her  com 
panion  drew  his  own  rein,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  Molly's. 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  cry  ?  I  can't  bear 
it.  What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  disturb  you,  to 
make  you  care  about  it,  or  pity  me ;  I 
am  much  happier  since  that  happened. 
Could  it  be  —  oh,  could  it  be  —  "  He 
gazed  a  moment  upon  her,  absorbedly 
and  absorbingly,  and  she  turned  away. 
For  who  can  make  conscious  preparation 

4 


50     OUR  LADY  OF   THE  UNION. 

for  the  imminent  ?  Sudden  ever  is  the 
finger  of  Death,  to  the  watchers ;  sud 
den  also  is  Love. 

They  were  under  the  shade  of  some 
giant  pines.  The  young  man  vaulted 
lightly  to  the  ground,  close  to  Molly's 
satin  stirrupless  flank,  his  hands  clasped, 
his  head  thrown  back,  fired  with  adoring 
hope.  When  Cecily  inclined  towards 
him  again,  he  saw  in  her  (or  was  it  his 
bewitched  fancy  ?)  the  remote,  incredible 
radiance  of  his  old  day-dream.  The  great 
flush  rolled  responsive  to  his  own  clear 
brow.  He  shook  himself  free,  and  found 
his  voice.  "Cecily,"  he  said  simply,  "  I 
love  you  ;  you  must  know  that  I  love 
you.  Such  a  love  has  no  beginning  and 
no  end.  You  understand  that  and  me. 
Of  myself  I  have  nothing  to  say.  You 
have  seen  me  only  among  Willoughby's 
recruits  ;  but  I  never  wished  to  be  else 
where.  Judge  of  me,  as  we  two  are,  now 
and  here.  Can  you,  do  you  think  you 
could  be  my  wife,  by  and  by  ?  Tell 
me.  Tell  me !  "  Then  Cecily,  simple 
too,  in  the  same  tremor  of  exaltation, 
put  out  her  right  hand.  He  caught  at  it 
with  both  his  own,  and  buried  his  face 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE   UNION.     51 

there.  His  wide  hat  had  fallen ;  the 
warm  light  was  on  his  clustering  hair. 
With  a  sweet  instinct  like  motherli- 
ness,  his  maid,  bending  over,  kissed  it 
in  benediction. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  they  crossed 
the  ford,  and  the  late  afternoon  found 
them  still  pacing  on  their  roadless  way, 
like  the  lost  enchanted  knight  and  lady 
of  the  Black  Forest.  They  were  less 
than  a  mile  from  Braleton,  on  the  rocks, 
in  sight  of  the  tents,  when  they  unsad 
dled  and  tethered  the  horses,  and  made 
the  last  halt.  "  Dearest,"  the  Sergeant 
had  said,  lying  at  her  feet,  his  elbow  in 
the  grass,  "  dedicate  my  sword."  Rais 
ing  himself,  he  made  a  motion  as  if 
drawing  it,  and  held  it  towards  her  and 
the  sunset ;  Cecily,  in  the  same  pretty 
pantomime,  touched  her  lips  to  the  view 
less  blade,  priestess  of  a  new  investiture. 
"One  thing  we  both  love  better  than  our 
selves  ;  is  it  not  so  ? "  She  was  not 
jealous  now.  "  These  United  States, 
right  or  wrong  !  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  The  soldier  sheathed  his 
sacred  weapon.  "  Say  justice,  liberty,  the 
rights  of  man ;  the  things  our  United 


52     OUR   LADY  OF  THE  UNION. 

States  ought  to  stand  for."  Then  the 
light  heart  in  him  laughed ;  and  Concrete 
and  Abstract  blessed  each  other.  Happy 
and  silent,  they  lingered  on  the  brow  of 
the  pine  copse ;  a  breeze  sprang  up ;  vast 
and  gorgeous  sky-colors  spread  and  deep 
ened.  The  Sergeant's  uplifted  face  was 
fixed  upon  his  betrothed.  She  seemed  to 
dissolve  away  before  him,  or  before  him, 
rather,  to  be  vivified  and  set  free.  Slowly 
between  her  and  him,  transubstantiating 
her  touching  beauty,  gathered  a  solemn, 
changeful,  wavering  cloud-splendor  of 
ivory,  rose,  and  sapphire,  gathered  out 
of  the  land  of  myths  into  recognized  and 
unforgotten  fact.  For  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  he  endured  that  mystical  glory ; 
then  his  head  dropped  forward  on  her 
knees.  A  thing  seen  was  yet  upon  him : 
once  more  Our  Lady  of  the  Union,  but 
with  a  smile  as  if  of  one  assured  at  last 
of  ransom,  and  ineffably  content.  When 
Cecily  touched  him,  wondering,  he  shud 
dered,  and  brushed  an  imagined  film 
from  his  eyes.  She  sat  there,  innocent 
of  any  magic,  unaware  in  what  potter's 
hand  her  spirit  was  so  much  fine  clay. 
From  the  depths  of  the  vale  the  croak 


OUR  LADY   OF  THE   UNION.     53 

of  frogs  arose,  faint  here  and  shriller  there, 
then  long-drawn  and  general:  ever  a 
most  mournful,  homesick,  and  foreboding 
sound  to  our  armies  in  the  South.  The 
distant  camp  seemed  ominously  quiet ; 
but  on  the  outskirts  of  it  was  a  dissolv 
ing  shadow,  a  moving  dark  clot,  there, 
a  moment  back,  between  them  and  the 
scarce-fluttering  flag,  and  still  there,  now 
that  the  flag  was  hauled  down,  its  bright 
hues  effaced  against  the  more  vivid  even 
ing  air.  Presently  the  group  of  men,  for 
such  it  was,  scattered.  Cecily's  keen  sight 
read  what  was  written  afar;  the  familiar 
figure  of  the  one-armed  brisk  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  in  the  saddle  coming  towards  the 
hill,  with  others  following  on  the  gallop 
behind. 

"You  are  needed,"  she  said  without 
preamble;  "you  must  go  to  them." 
With  emphasis  and  authority,  slight  and 
quick,  yet  irrevocable,  she  spoke.  He 
turned  about,  and  sprang  to  his  feet  from 
his  enchantment  at  her  side ;  for  the 
divine  day,  the  Sergeant's  field-day,  was 
over.  "  Is  this,  the  way  of  women,  or 
only  your  way  ?  You  send  me  from  you 
on  a  supposition,  a  scruple,"  he  answered, 
plaintively. 


54    OUR  LADY   OF  THE   UNION. 

"Go."  She  repeated  it  softly,  and  with 
closed  eyes,  lest  she  should  look  upon 
her  own  heart-break.  "  It  is  unneces 
sary,  as  you  know,"  he  replied;  "but 
if  you  make  it  a  point  of  honor,  I  am 
glad  to  obey."  He  held  out  his  hands, 
and  she  took  them,  cherishing,  steadfast, 
as  in  a  pact.  Her  voice  and  step  were 
strangely  unsteady ;  they  held  up  the 
mirror,  as  it  were,  to  his.  What  was 
there  in  a  commonplace  incident  to  move 
them  so  to  the  depth  ?  In  a  passionate 
presentiment,  he  drew  her  closer  to  him. 
"  Are  we  to  be  given  to  each  other  only 
that  we  may  be  severed,  and  suffer  the 
more  ?  What  if  the  end  should  be  now? 
Cecily  !  " 

But  the  young  heroic  mettle  rose  to 
meet  his.  "  Beloved,  you  are  mine  and 
not  mine.  You  are  consecrated  for  the 
term  of  the  war  ;  so  am  I.  I  will  always 
give  you  up  to  your  task.  Perhaps  you 
may  measure  by  that  whether  I  love 
you."  He  looked  down  with  a  grateful 
sigh  on  her  who  so  mysteriously  held  him 
to  his  sacrifice,  and  shared  it,  and  through 
her  and  in  her,  on  the  old,  old  fate  which 
he  knew  now  was  driving  him  to  the  cliff. 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  UNION.     55 

"  If  there  is  to  be  a  fight,  I  want  your 
flag,  the  flag  you  made  !  "  he  whispered, 
grasping  at  anything  to  hide  this  rending 
in  him  of  the  spirit  from  the  flesh.  "  How 
ever,  whenever  I  fall,  I  want  to  be  buried 
in  it.  Is  it  done  ?  May  I  take  it 
for  mine,  before  it  is  presented  to  the 
regiment  ? " 

"  Yes.  You  shall  carry  my  colors  here 
and  in  heaven.  I  will  pray  for  my 
knight," 

He  kissed  her  once,  twice,  for  the  be 
trothal,  and  yet  again  for  the  farewell. 

He  took  Molly,  the  fresher  animal  of 
the  two,  and  spurred  to  the  open  ground 
below,  breaking  out  from  the  wood-path, 
ready  for  any  duty,  on  time.  He  looked 
illumined,  detached,  transfigured:  a  Saint 
Michael  to  be  remembered  after  by  his 
companions  in  the  moral  crises  of  their 
lives.  The  Lieutenant-Colonel  drew  rein, 
relieved.  "  I  was  wishing  for  you,  of  all 
people,"  he  said;  "I  feared  you  were  far 
away.  There  has  been  an  alarm;  we  must 
sleep  under  arms.  The  Colonel  and  most 
of  the  officers  have  not  returned.  I  will 
go  back  now.  Take  these  six  with  you, 
and  cross  the  railway  tracks  to  Palmer's. 


56     OUR  LADY  OF  THE   UNION. 

It  is  a  rough  road,  and  a  long  journey; 
but  report  as  soon  as  you  can."  The  Ser 
geant  started  with  his  bayoneted  caval 
cade  in  a  dash  westward.  Cecily,  appre 
hensive  of  something  unusual,  saw  the 
slow-rising  dust,  and,  ahead  of  it,  the 
erect  leader,  scaling  the  horizon,  and  van 
ishing  into  the  yet  glowing  sky.  A  pang 
unutterable  tore  her ;  but,  uttered,  it 
would  have  been  none  other  than  Amen. 

Poor  Saladin  was  tired  enough,  having 
been  out  all  day  long ;  and  Cecily  led 
him  carefully  to  the  plain.  Every  clap 
ping  leaf,  every  crackling  twig  underfoot, 
struck  a  chill  into  her  bosom,  on  the  over 
shadowing  hill-slopes.  She  had  played 
too  brave  a  part  under  her  mental  tur 
moil,  and  in  the  presence  of  her  lover, 
himself  too  easily  enamoured  of  death.  A 
spell  greater  than  any  he  had  felt  was  over 
her,  breathing  a  blackness  between  her 
and  the  light.  Now  her  ample  courage 
was  fast  giving  out.  She  saw  a  face  in 
the  thicket,  and  was  barely  able  to  nerve 
herself  not  to  scream.  A  man,  in  a 
military  dress  she  did  not  know,  came 
forward,  and  raised  his  cap.  It  was 
Major  Julian  Brale,  free  at  last  to  do 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  UNION.     57 

some  scouting  over  his  ancestral  acres, 
alone,  and  with  hot  revenges  in  his  heart. 
He  was  sorry  for  her,  and  angry  at  her 
discovery.  He  apologized  briefly,  and 
helped  her  to  mount,  not  without  con 
cern,  but  with  a  scornful  coldness  of  man 
ner  which  he  could  not  help.  When  she 
had  gone,  he  returned  to  the  bushes, 
cursing  the  Eleventh ;  for  he  had  recog 
nized  the  saddle  on  the  bay.  The  two 
forces  were  on  the  brink  of  battle  ;  but  he 
was  not  an  expert  sharp-shooter  for  noth 
ing,  and  if  he  could  but  get  sight  of  that 
thief,  that  coward,  that  hell-born  villain 
who  had  taken  his  old  father's  precious 
Molly  from  him —  A  moonbeam  strag 
gled  in  where  he  bent  over,  priming  his 
rifle,  and  he  moved  from  it  into  the  dark. 
Dinnerless,  supperless,  much  too  over 
wrought  to  go  to  bed,  Cecily  Carter  sat 
in  the  Colonel's  empty  tent.  For  com 
pany,  she  had  shaken  out  her  great  silken 
banner  over  the  lounge,  where  the  fire 
light,  falling  on  it,  seemed  to  praise  its 
divine  destroying  loveliness  with  a  poet's 
Pentecostal  tongue.  Once  she  murmured 
prayerfully:  "Dear  Robert,  dear  Robert." 
Something  not  herself  had  bade  him  go, 


58     OUR  LADY  OF   THE  UNION. 

and  he  was  gone ;  there  was  all  of  herself 
now  in  these  fears.  The  little  parting 
from  him  which  she  was  enduring  became 
magnified  and  abiding,  so  that  she  looked 
upon  him  slain,  and  thought  with  a  sort 
of  joyous  satisfaction  how  under  the  but 
tons  of  his  old  blue  jacket,  where  nobody, 
not  even  his  mother,  knew  of  them,  were 
rose-leaves  all  about  the  open  wound  next 
his  heart ;  rose-leaves  pressed  most  fer 
vently,  one  by  one,  to  her  lips,  and  laid 
there.  Other  caress  she  could  not  give 
him  ;  though  she  was  his,  he  was  the  Re 
public's,  for  ever  and  ever.  Again,  she 
saw  him  carried  on  a  howitzer  to  a  green 
lonely  place.  A  stone  reared  itself  be 
fore  her,  and  she  read  upon  it  an  odd 
inscription :  If  ye  seek  the  summit  of  true 
honor,  hasten  with  all  speed  into  that  heav 
enly  country.  She  started  up.  Was  her 
brain  indeed  giving  way?  Who  had 
spoken  ?  Where  had  she  heard  those 
words?  How  piercing  a  beauty  they 
had  !  Were  they  in  the  Church  ritual  ? 
What  did  they  mean  ?  Why  should 
they  hound  her  from  her  rest  ? 

The  Colonel's  little  ormolu  clock  struck 
eleven.     Almost    on   the  stroke,  the  de- 


OUR  LADY  OF   THE   UNION.     59 

layed  revellers  entered.  Adela  could  not 
fail  to  notice  her  sister's  nervousness,  but 
attributed  it  to  anxiety  for  herself.  The 
Sultana  of  the  Surgeon's  christening  had 
been  prodigally  feasted  and  flattered ; 
she  had  come  home  with  an  armful  of 
hothouse  flowers,  effulgent  with  gratifi 
cation,  and  in  a  talking  mood.  The 
Colonel's  boy  brought  in  the  lamps. 
When  the  Colonel  himself  followed, 
grown  grim  with  the  sudden  tension  and 
commotion  about,  his  remark  was  to  the 
point.  "  I  'm  afraid  you  women  will  have 
to  get  out  of  camp,  quick.  I  smell  powder. 
It  is  likely  to  be  damned  disagreeable." 
His  handsome,  worldly  wife,  coming,  but 
terfly-like,  in  yellow,  out  of  her  dark 
wrappings,  fixed  him  with  her  censorious 
eye.  "  James  Willoughby  !  You  have 
been  drinking."  He  was  wont,  on  such 
occasions,  to  cast  a  comical  appealing 
glance  at  Cecily,  of  whom  he  was  fond. 
She  did  not  smile  in  return,  and  her  pal 
lor  touched  him  ;  so  that  he  went  over  to 
her  at  once.  "  What 's  the  matter,  child  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  affectionate  anxiety.  But 
an  approaching  clang  and  clatter,  and  the 
challenge  of  the  sentry  without,  took 


60     OUR   LADY   OF  THE   UNION. 

from  him  what  he  meant  to  say;  he  left 
Cecily  to  her  sister,  and  hurried  into  the 
air.  His  going  added  to  her  trouble  ;  and 
yet  she  would  have  had  no  solace  in  keep 
ing  a  friend  near.  Oh,  the  stress  and 
strain  of  dull  daily  incident  upon  that  in 
ner  universe,  frangible  as  a  bubble,  where 
she  and  Robert  had  begun  to  live!  —  she 
and  Robert,  and  the  Love  of  Country 
alone,  for  between  this  and  them  must  be 
union  everlasting.  Oh,  the  tyranny  of  all 
that  is,  laid  upon  him,  faithful  in  his  place; 
upon  her,  faithful  in  hers;  the  speechless 
dealings  of  lonely  lovers  with  the  Lone  ! 
Private  Cobbe,  being  foremost,  saluted 
breathlessly :  C(  Colonel,  the  pickets  are 
being  driven  in  ;  the  enemy  is  advanc 
ing."  The  gallant  fellow  pressed  his 
hand  to  his  thigh  ;  he  was  wounded,  and 
he  was  soldier  enough  to  feel  that  wound 
an  ignominy  which  had  been  received 
obscurely,  and  elsewhere  than  on  the  field. 
Immediately,  all  along  the  tents,  arose 
the  multitudinous  yet  unconfused  cries  of 
"  Form  !  "  and  cc  Fall  in  !  "  from  the 
captains;  the  flapping  guidons  were  borne 
hither  and  thither  to  their  places,  and  the 
thousand  horses,  wheeling  on  their  danc- 


OUR   LADY  OF  THE   UNION.     61 

ing  hoofs  by  the  gleam  of  lantern  and 
torch  under  the  watery  moon,  began  to 
make  huge,  fantastic  shadows  along  the 
old  parade-ground.  The  Colonel,  drawing 
on  his  gauntlets,  and  still  afoot,  noticed 
for  the  first  time  that  Cobbe  and  McGrath 
held  between  them,  each  with  an  arm 
around  him,  an  officer.  For  an  instant, 
in  the  imperfect  light,  he  thought  him 
some  prisoner,  until  he  recognized,  in  a 
flash,  Molly  with  her  great  liquid,  excited 
eyes,  Molly  with  her  even  mane  hanging 
wet  and  limp,  confronting  him.  Private 
McGrath  had  held  in  until  now.  He 
blurted:  "  I  'm  afraid  he's  gone,  sir." 
The  Colonel  took  a  step  forward,  as  if  it 
were  into  eternity.  The  Surgeon,  stand 
ing  by,  echoed  after  him:  "My  God!" 

They  lifted  their  friend  down  together, 
and  carried  him  in,  and  laid  him  with 
extreme  gentleness  where  by  chance  the 
new  flag,  a  kingly  winding-sheet,  was 
above  him  and  under.  The  Surgeon 
bent  very  low  for  a  while  over  the  lounge. 
The  many  in  the  tent,  used  to  calamity 
less  great  than  the  loss  of  their  best,  held 
their  breath  ;  the  Adjutant's  dog,  close  to 
his  master's  legs,  lifted  his  long  gray 


62     OUR   LADY   OF   THE   UNION. 

throat  and  crooned  softly  and  mournfully, 
as  the  band  outside,  far  down  the  dispart 
ing  columns,  broke  into  a  loud,  thrilling 
strain,  impatient  for  victory.  The  Ser 
geant  was  dead,  with  a  ball  in  his  breast. 
No  one  moved  until  Cecily  groaned  and 
dropped. 


AN    EVENT  ON  THE   RIVER. 

MORNING  lay  over  Portsmouth  and 
her  great  stretches  of  opaline  sea.  The 
little  islands,  north  to  the  Maine  shore, 
and  east  to  the  harbor-buoys,  were  ablaze 
with  red  and  yellow  bushes  to  the  water- 
brink  ;  the  low-masted  gunlows  were 
beating  out  like  a  flock  of  dingy  gulls ; 
and  from  afar,  pleasantly,  musically, 
sounded  the  bugle  at  the  Navy  Yard. 
The  Honorable  Langdon  Openshaw, 
standing  among  ruinous  warehouses  and 
wharves,  built  by  the  Sheafes  in  the  hour 
of  their  commercial  glory  under  the  sec 
ond  George,  looked  down  upon  the  clear 
Piscataqua  at  full  flood,  breathing  be 
tween  its  day-long,  Samson-like  tugs  at 
the  yet  enduring  piers.  It  was  a  lonely 
spot ;  the  wind  had  a  way  there,  some 
times,  of  waking  momentary,  half-im 
agined  odors,  the  ghosts  of  the  cargoes 
of  wines  and  spices  in  the  prodigal  past. 


64    AN   EVENT   ON   THE  RIVER. 

His  own  solitude,  the  washing  tide,  the 
one  towering  linden  yonder,  the  gambrel 
roofs  and  ancient  gardens,  the  felt  neigh 
borhood  of  the  dear  wild  little  graveyard 
where  his  forbears  slept,  steeped  his  heart 
in  overwhelming  melancholy.  He  had 
already  passed  a  week  at  the  Rockingham. 
It  was  a  strange  date  to  choose,  out  of  all 
his  free  and  prosperous  life,  for  a  first 
visit  since  childhood  to  the  fair  old  New 
England  borough  where  he  was  born.  A 
sort  of  morbid  home-sickness  had  driven 
him  back  now,  in  his  distresses,  to  her 
knee.  For  the  Honorable  Langdon 
Openshaw,  innocent  of  the  astounding 
crime  with  which  he  was  charged,  was  out 
on  bail. 

The  accusation  was  the  most  inexpli 
cable  of  things.  His  chief  characteristic 
had  been  an  endearing  gentleness,  which 
brought  him  the  popular  favor  he  cared 
nothing  for.  He  was  the  captain  citizen 
of  his  town;  he  had  held,  in  turn,  every 
office  public  esteem  could  give  him  ;  he 
was  president  of  a  wealthy  corporation 
which  controlled  a  bank.  It  was  this 
treasury  which  he  was  said  to  have  rifled, 
and  its  cashier  whom  he  was  said  to  have 


AN   EVENT  ON   THE   RIVER.     65 

murdered.     No  living  creature  was  there 
in    all    Connecticut    but    laughed    aloud 
when    the   report  began  to   spread ;    but 
time    and    circumstantial    proof    sobered 
them,  and  increased  the  breed  of  cynics 
and    sceptics    the    country    over.       The 
philanthropist,   the  good  man,   the  Sun 
day-school  paragon,  forsooth,  once  again 
exposed   in    all  his    gangrened    sanctity ! 
Two  sickening  circumstances,  in  the  dark 
designs   of  Providence,    pointed   at   him 
with  deadly  ringer.     One  was,  that  at  the 
time   of  the  robbery,    there  was  an    im 
pending    crash    in    his    vested    finances, 
since  wholly  and    finally  averted  by  his 
foresight  and  skill ;   the  other,  that  some 
time  before,  in  the  discharge  of  duty,  he 
had    incurred   the  enmity  of  the  victim. 
Was   it  not  possible,  during  Mr.  Open- 
shaw's  interval   of  anxiety,    he,    that    is, 
any  other  than  he,  might  have  dared  re 
trieve  his  fortune,  and  silence  the  witness 
of   his    crime,   George  Wheeling,   found 
unexpectedly  at  his  desk  at  midnight  over 
his  accounts,  and  thrown  down  the  stair 
into  the  vaults  ?     But  there  was  a  more 
certain  and   horrible   evidence.      He  had 
been  seen  escaping;   he  had  been  recog- 
5 


66    AN  EVENT    ON  THE   RIVER. 

nized.  The  scuffle  had  roused  the  occu 
pants  of  houses  near;  and  these,  looking 
forth  by  the  city  lamplight,  saw  the  flying 
figures,  one  of  them,  alas,  inconceivably, 
yet  unmistakably,  so  help  us  God  !  the 
Honorable  Langdon  Openshaw.  Had 
they  not  a  perfect  unanimous  knowledge, 
for  many  years,  of  his  face,  his  unique 
gait,  his  uncommon  stature?  Where 
was  there  another  such  odd  and  definite 
physical  personality  ?  As  to  the  confed 
erates,  well,  there  were  reasons,  no  doubt, 
why  bravos  should  be  hired. 

Wearily,  wearily,  he  parted  his  gaze 
from  the  alluring  eternity  in  the  river, 
and  strolled  a  little  distance  to  the  warm 
wall,  and  sat  down  in  the  late  September 
grasses  against  it,  like  the  broken  man  he 
was.  He  took  off  his  hat,  a  character 
istic  dark  soft  felt  such  as  he  always  wore, 
and  the  air  was  good  upon  his  brow.  His 
thoughts  reverted  to  old  times.  He  had 
no  kindred  except  a  sister  living  in  Santa 
Barbara  with  her  family  of  daughters,  and 
between  them  there  had  never  been  any 
marked  natural  affection.  The  distant 
cousin  of  his  own  whom  he  had  married, 
had  borne  him  no  children,  and  she  was 


AN   EVENT   ON   THE   RIVER.     67 

dead:  a  gentle,  negative  soul,  to  whom  he 
confided  little  of  what  touched  him  most. 
He  had  formed  no  intimate  companion 
ships.  No  one  save  his  mother,  whom 
he  lost  in  his  boyhood,  and  whose  maiden 
name  he  bore,  had  ever  possessed  much 
influence  over  him.  He  was  a  man's 
man,  as  the  saying  is,  hitherto  of  any  age 
he  chose,  and  rich  in  all  resources.  But 
he  had  strong  dormant  affections,  shame 
facedly  expended  on  public  orphanages 
and  hospitals,  and  on  the  Society  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  ;  and 
he  felt  rightly  that  he  could  have  been 
fatherly,  brotherly,  even  filial,  with  a 
son.  Ah,  if  he  but  had  a  son  !  Bul 
warked  about  with  modern  conveniences, 
that,  his  one  necessary,  he  had  missed. 
And  here,  in  strange  opprobrium,  was 
the  end  of  his  career  and  of  his  name. 
"  Lover  and  friend  hast  Thou  put  far 
from  me  !  "  he  breathed  to  himself,  feel 
ing,  for  the  first  time  since  his  calamity,  a 
profound  submission  of  the  soul. 

He  heard  voices  in  the  windless  air. 
He  did  not  rise,  for  they  were  not  ap 
proaching  him.  He  could  not  help  dis 
tinguishing  the  animated  words. 


68     AN   EVENT   ON   THE  RIVER. 

"  This  is  as  far  as  I  ought  to  go.  I 
guess  I  '11  say  good-bye." 

"They  will  miss  you  notta  yet.  Oh, 
please  do,  please  do  stay  !  I  starve  if  I 
am  absent.  Come,  one  kissa  more." 

cc  No  ;  wait  till  to-morrow,  you  great 
baby.  Go  away  now,  and  do  your  best 
to  be  good." 

"  Alia  righta ;  if  you  give  to  me  one 
little  song." 

"  Truly  ? " 

cc  Truly,  Anita  mia.     I  desire  indeed, 
this  hour,   the  mandolin.      But  no  mat 
ter  :    sing.     All    is    quiet :     see  !    it    can 
i      •    >» 
begin. 

Then  the  girl's  thin  bird-like  voice 
soared  alone,  not  in  any  expected  love- 
lyric  of  the  seaport,  streets,  but  in  a 
Christian  folk-song  of  artless  beauty. 

"All  in  the  April  evening, 
April  airs  were  abroad ; 
The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 
Passed  me  by  on  the  road. 

"  The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 

Passed  me  by  on  the  road : 
All  in  the  April  evening 

I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God. 


AN   EVENT  ON   THE   RIVER.     69 

"  The  lambs  were  weary,  and  crying 

With  a  weak  human  cry  : 
I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God 
Going  meekly  to  die. 

"  Up  in  the  blue,  blue  mountains, 

Dewy  pastures  are  sweet, 
With  rest  for  the  little  bodies, 
And  rest  for  the  little  feet. 

"  But  for  the  Lamb  of  God, 

Up  on  the  hill-top  green, 
Only  a  Cross  of  shame, 

Two  stark  crosses  between! 

"  All  in  the  April  evening, 
April  airs  were  abroad  ; 
I  saw  the  sheep  with  their  lambs  : 
I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God."  1 

There  was  a  pause  after.  Then  Openshaw 
sighed.  He  knew  they  were  in  each 
other's  arms,  the  morning  heaven  bless 
ing  them  ;  but  with  him  it  was  spirit 
ual  darkness,  and  bitter  evenfall.  A  boat 
passed  below,  the  oarsmen  curious ;  and 
the  young  loiterers  on  the  old  wharf  stood 
apart. 

"  My  angel,  my  sainta !  " 

"  Hush  !  It  is  twelve  already  :  I  must 
be  off." 

1  Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson. 


70     AN    EVENT   ON  THE   RIVER. 

"Ah,  the  time  is  so  short !      Cruel !  " 
cc  Dear,  you    are    nicest  when  you  are 
good." 

"  Behold,  I  am." 

At  last  the  farewells  and  vacancy ;  and 
then  footsteps  making  towards  the  angle 
of  the  wall.  Mr.  Openshaw's  stately  head, 
crowned  with  the  abundant  glossy  black 
and  gray  which  gave  it  such  distinction  in 
a  land  of  bald  pates,  arose  upon  the  sur 
prised  view  of  the  new-comer.  He,  on 
his  part,  with  no  question  as  to  a  gentle 
man's  supposed  midday  slumbers,  stooped, 
and  offered  Mr.  Openshaw  his  hat.  The 
two,  confronted,  smiled  a  little ;  both 
tall,  aquiline,  clean-shaven. 

c<  I  thank  you.  Perhaps  you  would 
rather  have  me  say,  molte  grazie.  You  are 
an  Italian,  are  you  not?  " 

The  other,  wonderingly,  but  with  native 
grace,   assented.      "  I   am    a  Florentine." 
How  he  said  it !      Where  did  he  get  that 
gypsy  princeliness,   his    clear  pallor,   the 
nameless  magic  that  takes  the  heart  ? 
"  You  speak  English  fairly." 
cc  I   have  been  in  youra  country  long." 
ct  And   I   in   yours,    many  years   ago." 
Now  Openshaw  was    dallying,   and  con- 


AN   EVENT   ON  THE    RIVER.     71 

sciously.  What  impelled  him  to  open 
sociabilities  with  such  an  one,  he  did  not 
know.  This  stripling  of  another  grade 
reminded  him  dimly  of  something,  and 
teased  his  eye.  "  What  a  bearing  the 
fellow  has  !  "  he  thought  again.  Having 
snapped  every  tie  with  his  own  life,  he 
could  afford  to  be  interested  in  that  of 
others.  He  took  pleasure  in  the  diverting 
accent  and  idiom,  and  the  abandon  with 
which  the  loose,  rough  clothes  were  worn. 

"  Florence  is  the  most  beautiful  of 
cities.  You  ought  almost  to  go  back/' 
It  relieved  his  heart  somehow,  the  fool 
ish  commonplace,  as  might  the  colloquy 
about  the  weather  among  aristocrats  in 
the  tumbrils  of  the  French  Revolution. 
All  time  hung  a  mortal  weight  upon  his 
hands ;  nor  did  the  un-Americanized 
stranger  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry.  But  now 
he  started  a  little. 

"Go  back?  Santa  Maria!  I  suffer: 
I  go  back  so  soona  that  I  can  !  "  As  he 
spoke,  with  the  soft  round  harp-like  Tus 
can  tone  which  the  east  wind  of  New  Eng 
land  had  not  rasped,  he  glanced  around 
apprehensively.  "  With  money,  nexta 
month,  I  sail  on  the  sea,  and  I  arrive." 


72     AN   EVENT   ON  THE   RIVER. 

"Well,  that  might  be  worse,"  said  the 
elder  man,  indulgently.  "  May  I  ask 
your  name?" 

"  Ralph  Power." 

"Ralph  Power?  That  is  not  an 
Italian  name." 

"  Sir,  I  know.  My  mother,  she  have 
the  marriage  name  Potenza.  Rodolfo, 
that  is  mine.  I  translate  the  two,  and 
that  is  Ralph  Power,  whicha  make  it  easy 
for  the  tongue  of  many." 

Mr.  Openshaw  had  drawn  his  hand 
over  his  eyelids,  as  if  feeling  the  sting  of 
memory. 

"  What  do  you  do  for  a  living  here  ?  " 

"  I  serva  the  market.  Once  I  assist 
to  builda  boats  for  the  Capitan,  but  now 
he  work  no  more ;  the  beautiful  Anne, 
she  is  his  daughter.  Ah,  signor  !  "  In 
genuously,  boyishly,  he  sighed. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"Twenty-two."' 

"How  many  questions  I  have  asked 
you  !  I  am  afraid  I  have  kept  you  from 
your  duties.  Pray  go  now." 

The  other  bowed,  and  turned  town- 
wards.  But  Openshaw  felt  on  the  in 
stant  a  sort  of  loneliness.  "  Rodolfo  .'  " 


AN   EVENT  ON  THE   RIVER.     73 

he  exclaimed,  "do  me  the  favor  to 
spend  this."  He  slipped  a  coin  into 
an  uninviting  hand,  partly,  as  he  would 
have  said  himself,  from  natural  depravity, 
partly,  from  the  sheer  luxury  of  his  own 
incognito,  and  that  of  giving  away  to  a 
young  man  what  no  young  man  could  in 
herit.  "It  may  help  you  out  of  your 
trouble.  Trouble  is  very  hard  to  bear, 
sometimes." 

If  he  were  aware  of  expecting  anything 
in  return,  from  a  poor  Italian,  it  was  the 
usual  ecstatic  thankful  benediction  of  poor 
Italians  in  like  luck.  Once  he  had  lived 
among  them  on  their  own  soil ;  he  knew 
the  simple-hearted,  engaging,  vagabond 
breed  through  and  through.  But  this  spe 
cimen  of  it  flushed  and  scowled,  while  try 
ing  to  seem  courteous ;  and  his  would-be 
benefactor  was  puzzled.  As  they  stood 
opposite,  they  were  of  equal  height ;  for 
the  younger  had  drawn  himself  up  a  good 
inch. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  proud.  You 
have  picked  that  up  in  New  England." 

Rodolfo  answered  resentfully  :  "  Sir,  I 
have  the  blood  of  New  England  also,  and 
it  is  for  me  the  destiny  to  earn  my  money, 


74     AN   EVENT  ON  THE   RIVER. 

most  of  all  after  what  I  promise  to  the 
beautiful  Anne." 

As  he  said  it,  warming  thus  into  his 
very  self,  the  eyes  of  Openshaw,  watch 
ing  him,  were  dazzled,  as  one  may  be 
who  crosses  an  alcove  towards  a  door  in 
plain  sight,  and  finds  that  seeming  door 
a  mirror.  A  little  alarum-bell  rang  in  his 
brain.  He  shuddered,  for  all  the  forces 
within  him  were  rallying  together:  tri 
umph,  hate,  revenge,  deadly  delight ; 
things  he  had  not  known  were  possible 
to  him  swarmed  into  his  spirit  with  a 
clang.  He  recognized,  at  a  stroke,  that 
this  vagrant  youth,  this  common  work 
man,  looking  at  him  with  no  smile  now, 
bore  a  violent  resemblance  to  himself. 
He  searched  for  details,  lightning-quick, 
and  devouringly.  Yes !  there  were  the 
dark,  fine,  pendulous  hair,  the  small, 
close  ear,  the  strong  nose  and  jaw,  even 
the  large,  slender  hand  toil  had  hardly 
scarred,  the  back  of  it  smooth  and  hard 
as  veined  marble;  how  like  the  Open 
shaw  hand,  plain  in  the  old  Lely  portrait, 
plainer  yet  in  the  Stuarts,  on  the  melan 
choly  walls  of  his  own  home  !  And  what 
followed  ?  The  voice,  significant,  pro- 


AN   EVENT  ON   THE   RIVER.     75 

phetic,  of  the  demon  of  self-preservation 
in  his  ear:  "This  may  be  the  man  who 
killed  George  Wheeling.  This  must  be 
the  man.  Impeach  him;  clear  yourself!" 
Openshaw,  in  his  calmer  mood,  a  few 
moments  back,  had  measured  the  char 
acter  before  him.  Whatever  else  it  was, 
it  was  not  astute.  He  foresaw  no  trouble 
in  worming  the  secret  out  of  him. 

"Very  well,"  he  replied,  as  if  seons  on 
aeons  of  thought  had  not  passed  since  he 
spoke  last.  "  I  will  take  the  gold-piece 
back,on  your  own  condition:  I  will  see 
that  you  earn  it.  Have  you  business  on 
hand  ?  " 

ct  Oh,  no.  The  venerable  butcher,  the 
fever  kills  him ;  we  bury  him,  and  locka 
the  door  for  all  day/'  Rodolfo  was  sullen 
yet. 

"  Then,  will  you  kindly  go  into  the 
square,  buy  me  cheese,  pilot  bread,  two 
quart  bottles  of  Sauterne,  and  two  glasses, 
and  return  by  way  of  Daniels  Street  ?  I 
shall  be  waiting  at  the  landing.  I  should 
like  to  hire  a  boat  for  an  hour,  and  have 
you  row  me  up  river.  Will  you  do 


so? 


The  lad    hesitated.     Finally,  touched, 


76    AN   EVENT  ON  THE  RIVER. 

or  put  upon  his  mettle  by  a  seeming  confi 
dence,  he  set  out,  with  the  greenback  in  his 
pocket  which  Mr.  Openshaw  had  given 
him.  The  latter,  at  this  pause  in  their 
colloquy,  was  made  aware  that  he  was  suf 
fering  keenly.  He  had  exceeding  self- 
control  ;  his  successes  in  life  had  sprung 
from  it.  But  every  mastered  nerve  in  his 
body,  having  already  undergone  so  much, 
and  having  so  much  to  undergo,  was  hum 
ming  like  a  beehive.  He  could  not  stand 
still.  He  wandered  about,  meeting  few 
pedestrians,  across  Water  Street,  up  Man 
ning  Street  to  Puddle  Dock  with  its 
liberty  pole,  and  again  past  the  grave 
yard,  lingering  wherever  he  could  com 
mand  a  view  of  the  broad  glorious 
anchorage,  tragic  with  the  exposed  ribs  of 
rotting  ships.  Into  the  happier  neigh 
borhoods  near,  he  would  not  penetrate ; 
this  one  had  been  happy  too,  when  he 
was  a  child.  There  he  saw  but  visions  of 
greatness  gone,  of  comfort  broken,  and 
an  hour  ago,  could  have  laid  his  cheek  to 
the  old  flaggings,  and  wept.  But  he  had 
now  a  terrible  just  purpose,  and  for  that 
he  must  save  his  strength. 

He    was    at    the    landing    later    than 


AN   EVENT   ON   THE   RIVER.     77 

Rodolfo,  who  sat  in  a  white  wherry  bal 
lasted  with  his  purchases,  the  oars  already 
in  hand.  Openshaw  rested  his  cane  on 
the  gunwale,  and  stepped  quietly  into  the 
stern ;  they  backed  out  of  the  cramped 
spaces,  and  shot  away.  The  surface  of 
the  harbor  was  dimpling,  little  by  little, 
with  the  great  hidden  swirls  of  the  turn 
ing  tide ;  deceptively  glassy  between  its 
deflected  banks,  it  gleamed  like  the  thin 
ice  which  forms  in  November,  and  over 
which  boys  send  pebble  after  pebble,  and 
laugh  to  hear  them  chirruping.  But 
Rodolfo  had  learned  long  since  how  to 
cajole  the  fierce  Piscataqua ;  and  tacking 
artfully  by  St.  John's  Point,  he  labored 
through  the  end  arch  of  the  great  bridge, 
and  gained  the  blue  highway  beyond.  A 
train  thundered  overhead.  Two  women 
in  the  footpath,  leaning  over  the  rail, 
stared  fixedly  at  the  little  boat,  and  from 
one  sensitive  face  to  the  other,  and  again 
at  their  contrasted  attire.  They  were 
Rodolfo's  neighbors,  and  pleased  that  he 
had  fallen  in  v/ith  a  gentleman. 

The  cruisers  were  not  back  within  the 
hour,  nor  within  three  hours.  The  whole 
world  was  to  change  strangely  for  them 


78     AN   EVENT   ON  THE   RIVER. 

both,  meanwhile.  The  order  of  what 
Langdon  Openshaw  had  intended  to  say 
and  do  came  to  naught,  because  what  hap 
pens  to  happen  is  lord  over  the  strongest 
human  will.  He  had  prepared  his  cun 
ning  questionings,  as  if  to  force  his  own 
fate,  forgetting  that  the  aggregation  of 
outer  circumstance  which  we  call  fate  is 
itself  an  irresistible  vortex ;  the  trapper, 
and  not  the  trapped.  Up  stream,  by 
Frank's  Fort,  under  a  sapphire  sky,  while 
as  yet  little  had  been  said,  he  found  that 
his  watch  had  run  down,  and  he  asked 
for  the  correct  time.  _  Rodolfo  set  him 
right  from  a  cheap  timepiece.  As  he 
handled  it,  there  appeared,  linked  to  the 
guard,  an  artistic  bit  of  bronze,  a  tiny 
Renaissance  figure,  with  bow  and  hound, 
the  blown  draperies  minutely  fair.  Open 
shaw  saw  it,  and  the  whole  universe  was 
not  so  manifest  to  him  as  that  small 
ominous  curio  within  it. 

"The  Diana!  On  your  soul,  where, 
how,  did  you  get  that  ?  "  It  was  familiar 
to  him ;  he  knew  it,  though  he  had  not 
seen  it  for  more  than  a  score  of  years. 
The  rower  dropped  it  back  into  his  breast, 
definitely. 


AN   EVENT   ON   THE   RIVER.     79 

"  It  is  mine,  and  dear  to  me.  My 
mother  who  gave  it,  she  is  dead." 

"  Did  you  say  your  mother's  name  was 
Potenza  ?  Was  it  Agata  Potenza  ?  Agata 
Boldoni  once? " 

"Yes." 

There  was  a  thronging  pause. 

"When  did  she  die?" 

"It  was  sixa  years  ago  ;  I  proceed  to 
America." 

"  Have  you  brothers  and  sisters  ?  " 

"  I  have,  in  Italy,  twin  brothers,  older; 
their  lame-a  father,  Niccola  Potenza,  live 
with  them.  But  he  is  notta  mine." 

Quick,  loud,  sure,  the  queries  and  the 
answers  fell,  like  the  hammer-strokes  of 
a  coffin  in  the  making. 

"  Your  father  was  —  ?  " 

"How  can  I  know?  They  tell  me 
he  was  vera  handsome,  vera  rich,  and 
from  this  America.  Malfattorel  He 
steal  away,  and  I  am  born  after ;  and  she 
see  him  not  in  her  life,  I  see  him  not  in 


mine." 


The  crew  had  apparently  hurt  the 
passenger,  for  the  latter  heaved  against 
the  thwarts. 

"  Once  more.  Was  your  mother 
ever  married  to  your  father  ?  " 


8o     AN   EVENT    ON  THE   RIVER. 

Rodolfo  knit  his  brows,  and  set  his 
teeth.  "  No." 

For  a  long,  long  time  there  was  no 
sound  but  the  little  singing  keel  on  its 
joyous  flight,  and  Openshaw's  head  was 
hidden  in  his  hands.  Rodolfo,  of  his  own 
vigorous  accord,  took  the  way  of  Dover 
Bridge,  across  the  noble  inland  bay,  and 
branched  up  the  shallowing  Oyster. 
There  by  the  bank,  in  the  stiller  soli 
tudes,  he  shipped  his  oars,  and,  reaching 
forth,  touched  the  bowed  shoulder,  not 
without  compassion. 

"  IllustrissimO)  look  up  !  Tell  me/' 
Then  did  Openshaw  begin,  steadily,  but 
hardly  above  his  breath,  intent  the  while 
on  the  image  of  his  own  youth  before  him, 
as  if  from  that  only  he  might  draw  cour 
age  to  confess. 

"  I  have  a  dear  friend  who,  when  he 
was  no  older  than  you  are  now,  went  to 
Italy.  He  spent  his  best  years  in  a  de 
lusion,  for  he  thought  then  he  might 
become  a  great  painter.  His  character, 
such  as  it  was  and  is,  turned  to  the  things 
of  good  report ;  he  was  an  orphan,  with  a 
competence;  but  he  had  had  no  home,  and 
no  moral  training.  Being  something  of 


AN   EVENT   ON   THE   RIVER.     81 

a  recluse,  he  developed  late  and  slowly. 
At  a  time  when  the  storm-clouds  in  most 
young  men's  lives  are  lifting,  his  were 
surcharging  themselves,  and  getting  ready 
to  burst.  On  his  thirtieth  birthday,  in 
Ferrara,  he  —  " 

"  In  Ferrara,  yes  !  "  broke  the  eager 
interruption. 

"  He  persuaded  another  man's  wife  to 
run  away  with  him.  She  was  a  peasant, 
very  young  and  innocent,  with  a  sweet 
pensive  Perugino  face ;  she  had  been 
his  model,  up  to  her  marriage  with  Nic- 
cola  Potenza." 

There  was  a  sharp  affirmative  breath 
from  the  listener. 

"  Niccola  Potenza  was  a  cooper,  with 
good  prospects.  He  was  considered 
quite  a  match  for  the  girl ;  but  he  turned 
out  to  be  dull,  silent,  and  preoccupied. 
Little  Agata  was  romantic ;  and  her 
thoughts  ran  easily  back  to  my  friend. 
The  fault  was,  assuredly,  all  his.  He 
thought  that  he  loved  her,  and  so,  in 
deed,  he  did ;  although  he  loved  better, 
alas,  the  adventure  and  the  rebellion.  At 
any  rate,  he  took  her  away  boldly  from 
her  husband  and  her  babes,  and  set  up 
6 


82     AN   EVENT    ON   THE  RIVER. 

life  in  his  old  studio,  in  Florence.  The 
cooper,  sworn  to  revenge  himself,  had 
nearly  hunted  my  friend  down,  when  on 
Easter  Day  he  fell  from  a  crowded  and 
festooned  inn-balcony,  and  broke  his 
thigh.  Somehow,  after  that,  his  fury 
failed  him;  and  he  sank,  under  his  misfor 
tune,  into  a  sort  of  apathy.  Things  went 
wrong  also  with  the  lovers.  Agata  kept 
only  for  a  while  her  soft,  joyous,  docile 
ways,  and  then  grew  restless  and  wretched, 
with  the  canker  of  a  good  heart  spoiled, 
which  nothing  on  earth  can  cure.  She 
would  spend  hours  in  the  chapel  near  by, 
her  face  covered,  thinking  and  weeping; 
and  then  she  would  go  back  to  her  little 
household  tasks,  and  move  about  in  my 
friend's  sight,  her  pale  penitent  face  driv 
ing  him  wild  more  effectually  than  any 
audible  reproach  could  have  done.  Of 
course  he  saw  what  was  in  her  soul :  the 
struggle  between  her  foolish  passion  for 
him,  and  mortal  home-sickness  for  the 
inner  peace  which  had  attended  her  old 
honorable  life.  He,  on  his  part,  resented 
the  moral  awakening  in  her,  and  stamped 
down  both  her  conscience  and  his  own. 
Against  the  voice  within  which  bade  him, 


AN   EVENT  ON   THE   RIVER.     83 

since  he  had  done  her  an  irretrievable 
wrong,  to  take  the  legal  burden  of  it 
upon  himself,  and  make  her  his  wife  in 
America,  arose  his  tyrannous  social 
cowardice.  He  dared  not;  he  had  a  de 
praved  but  intelligent  dread  of  discord 
and  incongruities.  And  so,  as  many 
another  man  as  weak  has  done,  he  served 
his  aesthetic  sense,  and  threw  honor  to 
the  winds.  He  was  never,  I  think,  wil 
fully  unkind  to  Agata;  his  selfishness 
would  seem  to  me  now  less  diabolic  had 
he  tried  to  estrange  her  from  him.  But 
as  soon  as  their  first  apprehensive  year 
together  had  passed,  without  any  talk  on 
the  subject,  he  left  her.  Before  he  took 
his  train,  that  night  in  May,  my  friend 
drew  up  a  paper  for  poor  Agata's  main 
tenance.  The  sum  was  small,  but  much 
more  than  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
call  her  own.  I  know  he  had  no  fore 
warning  of — of  his  child;  he  provided 
for  her  alone."  Mr.  Openshaw  was  speak 
ing  with  some  difficulty.  "  When  were 
you  born  ? " 

"  On  the  feast  of  San  Stefano,  the 
twenty-sixta  of  December,  eighteen  hun 
dred  sixta-five." 


84    AN  EVENT   ON   THE   RIVER. 

Rodolfo  had  been  listening  under  a 
strain  keener  than  that  of  physical  deaf 
ness.  The  more  nervously  overwrought 
of  the  two  at  this  particular  moment,  he 
was  likewise  the  more  restrained.  A 
certain  question  was  hot  in  his  throat. 
Though  he  had  not  understood  all  of 
Mr.  Openshaw's  melancholy  monologue, 
he  had  apprehended  the  heart  of  it  only 
too  well.  But  he  said  nothing  further.  ^ 

A  flock  of  pioneer  blackbirds,  in  deli 
rious  chatter,  were  gathering  overhead  for 
their  autumn  migration,  darkening^  the 
narrow  sky-space  with  their  circling  wings. 
Openshaw  looked  up. 

"  Those  birds  go  from  pole  to  pole  to 
find— what?  So  did  he.  His  youth  was 
killed  in  him ;  and  before  long,  neverthe 
less,  he  was  cheerful  and  active  again,  and 
courted  by  the  world.  He  came  home  to 
his  own  honest  and  normal  life,  and  after 
a  while  he  married.  He  had  no  tidings 
of  Agata,  and  had  actually  resolved  once 
to  try  to  find  her,  when  he  heard  what 
must  have  been  a  false  report,  that  she 
had  died ;  and  he  did  not  doubt  it,  for 
he  used  to  see  her  faithful  patient  little 
face  in  all  his  dreams.  From  what  I  have 


AN   EVENT  ON  THE   RIVER.     85 

learned  of  late,  I  believe  that  he  is  most 
miserable,  and  near  his  own  end.  He 
does  not  deserve  to  hear  of  her  last  days. 
But  if  by  letting  me  know,  you  can  pun 
ish  him  through  me,  do  not  spare  him. 
I  will  not,  I  promise  you." 

Rodolfo  sat  in  the  boat,  immovable, 
the  thin  leaves  of  the  bowery  wild-grape 
flapping  overhead,  and  flickering  him  with 
elfin  light  and  shade.  "My  mother,"  he 
began  in  a  low  voice,  "  did  the  best :  the 
grace  of  God  was  in  her.  Niccola  was  sick; 
the  trade  was  gone,  and  then  was  mucha 
poverty.  With  me  in  her  amiable  arms, 
she  return  on  the  feet  to  Ferrara,  and 
petition  him;  and,  lo  !  the  good  cripple 
man,  he  pardon.  There  us  four  in  one 
family,  we  flourish.  The  American  money 
she  could  notta  help,  go  among  all  till  all 
are  grown ;  she  die  of  the  fever  sixa  year 
ago,  with  many  candles  and  masses  for 
her  soul ;  and  because  it  is  notta  fit  that 
my  brothers  spend  on  me,  I  ask  Niccola's 
blessing,  and  come  to  America.  That  is 
the  end." 

Openshaw  inquired  presently,  when  he 
could  do  so:  "  Had  you  any  education, 
as  a  child  ?  Can  you  read  and  write, 
Rodolfo?" 


86    AN   EVENT  ON   THE   RIVER. 

"  No."  He  sat  sheepishly  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  seized  his  oars. 

"  How  have  you  prospered  over  here  ? 
Have  you  been  able  to  save  a  little  ?  You 
spoke  of  wishing  to  return." 

Rodolfo  quivered.     "  It  musta  be." 

tc  Why  so  ?  "  There  was  genuine  ten 
derness  in  the  two  words. 

"  There  is  nothing  of  hope  for  me.  I 
am  in  a  greata  fix.  I  leave,  I  go  ;  I  can 
not  stay.  I  have  a  sin  also.  Only  my 
beloved,  she  know  how  it  was  I  trans 
gress,  so  thatta  perhaps  my  guilt  is  not 
for  eternity." 

Openshaw  laid  the  tip  of  his  stick 
upon  the  rowlock,  with  authority.  <c  Do 
not  start  yet ;  let  the  boat  drift.  You 
must  be  hungry  with  this  long  exercise. 
Pray  pass  me  those  things  near  you,  and 
the  wine ;  and  while  you  lunch,  I  hope 
you  will  be  as  frank  with  me,  Rodolfo,  as 
I  have  been  with  you.  ...  I  look  upon  it 
as  a  miracle  of  mercy  that  at  the  eleventh 
hour  we  have  found  each  other."  He 
knew  that  the  young  man's  blazing  black 
eyes  were  full  upon  him.  cc  I  can  help 
you.  Only  keep  nothing  back."  He  filled 
one  of  the  glasses  from  the  fizzing  bottle, 


AN   EVENT   ON  THE   RIVER.     87 

and  passed  it.  But  it  was  struck  aside, 
and  the  cry  that  followed  was  so  sincere  it 
gave  the  rudeness  dignity. 

"Ah!  No,  no,  no.  Sir,  I  touch  the 
spiritual  drink  no  more  till  I  die.  I  vow 
to  Anita  mia,  after  the  terrible  night. 
For  see  !  The  evil  ones,  companions,  take 
me  on  a  burst  in  a  city  notta  this,  Harta- 
ford,  and  thieve."  His  voice  dropped 
under  the  excitement,  like  a  file  of  infan 
try  under  fire.  "They  thieve  a  banka; 
and  I  watch,  in  gin  so  drunk  as  Bacco ; 
and  when  the  invisible  man  arise  pugna 
cious,  I  throttle  him,  and  curse,  and  rolla 
him  down  to  the  cellar.  He  moan  and 
expire,  so  that  we  go  down  to  thieva 
more  ;  but  the  city  she  hears,  there  is  a 
sound,  then  a  sound  on  top  of  him,  and  we 
fly,  fly,  fly,  this  streeta,  that  streeta,  till  I 
come  back  awake  to  this  Portsmouth,  and 
fall  on  my  knee  to  Anne,  and  cry  tears. 
Ah,  my  sainta !  she  comfort  me  in  char-% 
ity,  and  talk  to  me,  and  keepa  me  from 
the  bad ;  and  for  penance  I  go  vera  dry 
always,  not  to  be  damn.  I  tell  it  not  to 
Niccola  at  home  when  I  go ;  and  I  pray 
to  go  soon,  that  the  Statesa  Prison  notta 
hanga  me." 


88     AN   EVENT   ON  THE    RIVER. 

Such  is  the  equilibrium  between  the 
infinite  and  folly,  that  at  this  juncture, 
as  he  recalled  afterwards,  Mr.  Openshaw 
was  eating  his  cheese.  He  answered, 
marvelling  at  his  own  composure. 

cc  I  read  about  it  in  the  newspapers. 
You  are  in  great  danger,  my  poor  boy. 
Now  listen.  There  is  a  ship  sailing  for 
Genoa  from  New  York  next  Saturday ; 
and  on  her  I  wish  you  to  engage  your 
passage.  That  will  give  you  a  week  to 
adjust  your  little  affairs  here  ;  and  you 
must,  moreover,  see  your  excellent  sweet 
heart,  and  persuade  her  to  marry  you  and 
go  with  you.  Will  you  do  that?" 

Rodolfo  opened  his  fine  eyes  very  wide, 
and  then  closed  them.  "  Oh,  volup 
tuous  as  it  would  be,  I  cannot.  The 
Capitan  he  make  Anne  deny  me  until  I 
shall  have  many  riches.  She  is  a  hand 
maid  of  domestic  service  on  Pleasanta 
Street ;  but  the  old  one,  he  is  proud  for 
her,  and  with  the  mosta  reason  in  all  the 
world.  I  shall  coop  with  thesea  my  broth 
ers  cooping  always  in  Ferrara,  and  do  my 
parta  with  my  soul.  For  bye-and-bye 
we  make  a  marriage;  and  then  she  will  be 
content  to  live  in  the  sympathetic  Italy, 
where  safeness  is  for  me.'* 


AN   EVENT  ON   THE   RIVER.     89 

"  But  we  mean  to  mend  all  that,  Ro- 
dolfo.  Your  father,  whom  I  know  very 
well,  is  growing  old,  and  has  a  great  deal 
of  property  with  no  one  to  share  it. 
The  least  he  can  do  for  you  (I  am  sure 
he  feels  that),  is  to  put  you  out  of  the 
reach  of  want.  He  will  not  ruin  you, 
nor  throw  you  into  temptations  of  a  kind 
other  than  those  you  have  undergone; 
for  you  are  his  son,  and  as  such  he  must 
love  you.  But  he  will  hope  to  hear  by 
next  spring,  that  you  have  bought  a  farm 
and  vineyard,  and  that  your  kind  kins- 
people  at  home,  and  your  wife,  some 
times  pray  for  him ;  yes,  and  for  me. 
Trust  me ;  we  need  say  no  more  about  it. 
He  will  have  it  all  settled  by  law  as  soon 
as  he  is  able,  but  certainly  within  a 
month/'  He  passed  his  hand  over  his 
hair,  absently,  and  resumed.  "  You  will 
go  across  the  ocean  now ;  and  if  my  friend 
lives,  he  may  come  to  you  ;  but  he  may 
not  live,  and  he  may  not  come.  It  is  his 
punishment  not  so  much  to  lose  you,  or 
what  you  might,  after  all,  be  to  him,  as 
to  recognize  that  his  awful  breach  of  duty 
has  established  between  you  what  I  may 
call,  perhaps,  in  the  long  run,  an  incom- 


90    AN   EVENT   ON   THE   RIVER. 

patibility."  Poor  Openshaw,  on  the  rack 
of  his  own  candor,  groaned  aloud. 

Once  more  they  were  crossing  Green 
land  Bay,  and  the  lone  and  lovely  miles 
seaward.  Rodolfo  crept  up  quietly  to  his 
strange  benefactor,  who  was  absently  gaz 
ing  far  away,  so  quietly  that  the  wherry 
moved  not  a  muscle  under  him. 

"It  is  you,"  he  said.  "The  'friend'  is 
a  made-up.  I  know.  Padre^  si!"  He 
threw  his  arms  about  Mr.  Openshaw,  his 
old  hatred  melted  away,  and  lay  there 
on  his  knees  like  a  little  boy,  sobbing, 
sobbing.  "It  is  for  nothing  at  all,"  he 
explained  with  his  endearing  semblance 
of  good-breeding;  "but  the  gentle  gooda- 
ness  of  God.  The  beautiful  Anne,  —  O 
you  musta  see  her,  and  letta  yourself  be 
thank  in  so  harmonious  the  voice  of  sev 
enteen  !  she  will  taka  me.  Behold,  I  am 
so  vera,  vera  happy."  Quite  overcome, 
he  did  not  even  raise  his  head  when  he 
was  spoken  to. 

"Am  I  forgiven,  Rodolfo?  Can  you 
forgive  me  for  your  poor  mother's 
sake  ?  " 

For  answer,  the  lad  covered  the  hand 
he  held  with  kisses  of  southern  fervor, 


AN   EVENT   ON   THE   RIVER.     91 

and    pressed    into    it    the    little   delicate 
charm   from  his  watch-string. 

At  the  touch  of  it,  the  tyranny  of  yes 
terday  and  to-morrow,  and  all  his  suffer 
ing  present  and  to  come,  departed  from 
Openshaw.  A  divine  felicity  began  now 
to  possess  him  ;  he  was  grateful,  he  was 
at  peace ;  whatever  his  retribution  was  to 
be,  he  embraced  it,  in  spirit,  like  a  bride. 
In  his  revery,  he  seemed  to  stand  before 
the  everlasting  tribunal,  with  inscrutable 
truth  on  his  lips:  "  Of  this  that  was 
mine  I  was  heedless.  Because  of  my  heed- 
lessness,  Poverty  and  Ignorance  and  In 
feriority  and  Exile  took  him  by  the  hand, 
and  led  him  to  the  pit.  He  is  rescued 
from  the  worst ;  he  will  cling  to  the  high 
est  which  he  sees,  with  an  elected  soul  to 
help  him  ;  but  what  he  might  have  been 
he  can  never  be.  It  was  I  that  sowed  ; 
let  it  be  mine  to  reap.  The  indelible 
blood  that  is  shed  is  on  my  hands,  not 
on  his.  Visit  Thy  wrath  upon  me,  for 
here  is  it  due.  With  body  and  soul, 
will,  sense,  and  understanding,  from  first 
to  last,  in  every  fibre  of  my  being,  I 
affirm  me  accountable  for  this  thing." 
To  the  tribunal  on  earth,  its  magnate  of 


92     AN   EVENT   ON   THE    RIVER. 

unblemished  reputation  had  no  explana 
tion  to  offer.  He  foresaw  only  his  ar 
raignment,  and  the  words  with  which  to 
clinch  it:  "Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  I 
plead  guilty." 

Rodolfo  spoke  first.  "  I  am  so  glad  I 
guess,  I  guess  from  the  teara  in  your  eye, 
that  time." 

The  tears  welled  up  again  as  the  other 
replied  :  cc  There  is  something  else  you 
will  never  guess,  thank  God." 

"  No  ? " 

"  No,  my  boy." 

Rodolfo  looked  up,  and  smiled,  with 
out  irrelevant  curiosity.  He  was  too 
content,  afloat  there. 

The  Honorable  Langdon  Openshaw 
took  charge  of  the  tiller,  the  son  to  whom 
he  had  twice  given  life  still  at  his  feet. 
With  neither  oar  nor  sail  the  guided  boat 
came  home  from  the  upper  waters  to 
the  port,  in  the  mellowing  afternoon, 
borne  on  the  mighty  ebb-tide  of  the 
Piscataqua. 


THE   PROVIDER. 

NORA  cried  out :  "  'T  is  so  pretty  to 
day  !  "  The  barefooted  children  were 
threading  the  slopes  of  Howth  towards 
Raheny.  Far-off,  the  city,  with  its  lights 
and  stretches  of  glorified  evening  water, 
was  lying  there  lovely  enough  between 
the  mountains  and  the  sea.  It  was 
Nora's  tenth  birthday,  and,  to  please  her, 
they  had  been  on  the  march  all  after 
noon,  their  arms  full  of  rock-born  speed 
well  and  primrose.  "  'T  is  so  pretty  !  " 
echoed  little  Winny,  with  enthusiasm. 
But  the  boy  looked  abroad  without  a 
smile.  "  'T'd  be  prettier  when  things  is 
right,"  he  answered  severely.  Hughey 
was  a  man  of  culture;  but  his  speech  was 
the  soft  slipshod  of  the  south.  The  three 
trudged  on  in  silence,  for  Hughey  was  a 
personage  to  his  small  sisters ;  and 
Hughey  in  a  mood  was  to  be  respected. 
He,  alas,  had  been  in  a  mood  too  long. 


94  THE   PROVIDER. 

He  had  carried  Winny  over  the  roughest 
places,  and  shown  her  Ireland's  Eye,  and, 
alongshore,  the  fishing-nets  and  trawls ; 
he  had  given  his  one  biscuit  to  be  shared 
between  them  all ;  and  lying  in  the  vel 
vet  sward  by  the  Druid  stone,  he  had 
told  them  all  he  knew  of  the  fairy-folk 
in  their  raths,  for  the  seventieth  time. 
But  he  was  full  of  sad  and  bitter  brood 
ing  the  while,  thinking  of  his  mother,  his 
poor  mother,  his  precious  mother,  work 
ing  too  hard  at  home,  for  whom  there 
never  seemed  to  be  any  birthdays  or  out- 
of-door  pleasures. 

Hugh  was  nearly  twelve  now,  and 
mature  as  the  eldest  child  must  always  be 
among  the  poor.  He  could  remember 
times  in  the  county  Wexford,  before  his 
father,  who  was  of  kin  to  half  the  gentry 
in  the  countryside,  died;  times  when  life 
had  a  very  different  outlook,  and  when 
his  peasant  mother,  with  short  skirts  and 
her  sleeves  rolled  up,  would  go  gayly  be 
tween  her  great  stone-flagged  kitchen  and 
the  well  or  the  turkey-hen's  nest  under  the 
blackthorn  hedge,  singing,  singing,  like  a 
lark.  They  had  to  leave  that  pleasant 
farm,  and  the  thatched  roof  which  had 


THE   PROVIDER.  95 

sheltered  them  from  their  fate,  and  move 
up  to  cloudier  Dublin,  to  a  stifling  garret 
over  a  beer-shop  ;  and  it  was  a  miserable 
change.  Malachi  O'Kinsella,  the  cheer 
ful  thriftless  man,  with  his  handsome 
bearing  and  his  superfluous  oratory,  was 
gone;  and  his  Hughey  was  too  young 
to  be  of  service  to  those  he  left  behind. 
A  fine  monument,  with  Glory  be  to  God  on 
it,  had  to  be  put  up  over  him  in  the  old 
churchyard,  two  years  ago ;  and  there 
had  been  since  the  problem  of  schooling, 
feeding,  and  clothing  Hughey,  Nora, 
and  Winny.  Then  Rose,  three  years  old, 
fell  into  a  lime-kiln,  and  was  associated 
with  the  enforced  luxury  of  a  second 
funeral ;  and  Dan,  the  baby,  born  after  his 
father's  death,  was  sickly,  and  therefore 
costly  too  ;  and  now  the  rent  had  to  be 
paid,  and  the  morrow  thought  of,  on  just 
nothing  a  week  !  All  of  which  this 
Hugh,  with  his  acumen  and  quick  sym 
pathy,  had  found  out.  He  worshipped 
his  mother,  in  his  shy,  abstinent  Irish 
way  ;  his  heart  was  bursting  for  her  sake, 
though  he  but  half  knew  it,  with  a  sense 
of  the  mystery  and  wrong-headedness  of 
human  society. 


96  THE   PROVIDER. 

That  April  Tuesday  night,  when  the 
wildflowers  were  in  a  big  earthen  basin 

O 

on  the  table,  like  streaks  of  moonlight 
and  moon-shadow,  and  the  girls  were  in 
bed,  Hughey  blew  out  his  candle,  shut 
up  his  penny  Gulliver,  and  went  over  to 
the  low  chair  in  their  one  room,  where 
his  mother  was  crooning  Dan  to  sleep  on 
her  breast.  It  shocked  him  to  see  how 
thin  she  was.  Her  age  was  but  three- 
and-thirty ;  but  it  might  have  been  fifty. 
She  wore  a  faded  black  gown,  of  decent 
aspect  once  in  a  village  pew ;  her  thick 
eyelashes  were  burning  wet.  Outside 
and  far  below,  were  the  polluted  narrow 
cross-streets,  full  of  flaring  torches,  and 
hucksters'  hand-carts,  and  drunken  voices; 
and  beyond,  loomed  the  Gothic  bulk  of 
Saint  Patrick's,  not  a  star  above  it. 

cc  Mother  !  't  is  not  going  to  school  any 
more  Oi  '11  be."  His  tired,  unselfish 
mother  swallowed  a  great  sigh,  but  said 
nothing.  "  Oi  '11  worruk  for  ye,  mother; 
Oi  '11  be  your  man.  Oi  can  do  't." 

There  was  another  and  a  longer  pause; 
and  then  Moira  O'Kinsella  suddenly  bent 
forward  and  kissed  her  first-born.  Like 
all  the  unlettered  class  in  Ireland,  she 


THE   PROVIDER.  97 

adored  learning  from  afar,  and  coveted  it 
for  her  offspring.  That  he  should  give 
up  his  hope  of  "  talkin'  Latin  "  touched 
her  to  the  quick.  "  God  love  ye,  Hughey 
darlint !  Phwat  can  a  little  bhoy  do?" 
But  she  slept  a  happier  woman  for  her 
knight's  vow. 

As  for  Hughey,  there  was  no  sleep  for 
him.  By  the  first  white  light  he  could 
see  the  two  pathetic  pinched  profiles  side 
by  side,  the  woman's  and  the  babe's, 
both  set  in  the  same  startling  flat  oval  of 
dark  locks.  The  faces  on  the  mattress 
yonder  were  so  round  and  ruddy  !  They 
had  not  begun  to  think,  as  Hughey  had; 
even  scant  dinners  and  no  warmth  in 
winter  had  not  blighted  one  rose  as  yet 
in  those  country  cheeks.  Up  to  yester 
day,  he  had  somehow  found  his  mother's 
plight  bearable,  thanks  to  the  natural 
buoyancy  of  childhood,  and  the  hope, 
springing  up  every  week,  that  next  week 
she  would  have  a  little  less  labor,  a  few 
more  pence.  Besides,  it  was  spring ; 
and  in  spring  hearts  have  an  irrational 
way  of  dancing,  as  if  a  fairy  fiddler  had 
struck  up  Garry owen.  But  now  Hughey 
was  sobered  and  desperate. 
7 


98  THE   PROVIDER. 

There  was  no  breakfast  but  a  crust 
apiece.  The  McCarthy  grandmother,  on 
the  stairs,  gave  Nora,  starting  for  school, 
some  fresh  water-cresses.  Just  then  Mrs. 
O'Kinsella  happened  to  open  the  door. 
Poor  Nora  had  yielded  to  temptation  and 
filled  her  mouth,  and  pretended,  holding 
her  head  down,  to  be  much  concerned 
about  a  bruise  on  her  knee.  She  could 
not  look  in  her  mother's  honest  eyes, 
ignorant  as  these  were  of  any  blame  in 
Nora.  Mrs.  O'Kinsella  went  wearily  to 
her  charing,  and  seven-year-old  Winny  set 
up  housekeeping  with  Dan,  the  primroses 
and  a  teapot-shaped  fish-bone  for  their 
only  toys.  Hughey  had  already  gone,  nor 
was  he  at  his  desk  in  the  afternoon,  when 
his  teacher  and  Nora  looked  vainly  for 
him ;  nor  did  he  return  to  his  lodgings 
until  after  sundown.  When  he  came,  he 
brought  milk  with  him,  earned  by  hold 
ing  a  gentleman's  horse  at  the  Rotunda; 
and  with  that  and  some  boiled  potatoes, 
there  was  a  feast.  Hughey's  vocation,  it 
would  appear,  had  not  yet  declared  itself. 
He  had  haunted  Stephen's  Green  and  its 
sumptuous  purlieus  in  vain.  He  had 
not  been  asked  to  join  partners  with 


THE   PROVIDER.  99 

Messrs.  Pirn,  nor  to  accept  a  Fellowship 
at  Trinity.  The  next  day's,  the  next 
month's  history  was  no  more  heroic. 
There  were  so  many  of  those  bright,  deli 
cate-featured,  ragged-shir  ted  boys  in  Dub 
lin,  coming  about  on  foggy  mornings 
with  propositions  !  The  stout  shop 
keepers  were  sated  with  the  spectacle 
of  the  unable  and  willing. 

The  days  dragged.  An  affable  police 
man  who  had  known  Hughey's  mother 
at  home  in  New  Ross,  seeing  him  once 
gazing  in  a  junk-shop  door,  finally  pre 
sented  him  to  the  proprietor  :  "  Toby, 
allow  me  t'  inthroduce  a  good  lad  wants 
a  dhrive  at  glory.  Can  ye  tache  um  the 
Black  Art,  now  ?  He  can  turrun  his 
hand  to  most  anythin',  and  his  pomes, 
Oi  hear,  do  be  grand,  for  his  age." 

The  junk-man,  good-naturedly  scan 
ning  Hughey,  saw  him  burst  into  tears, 
and  beat  the  air,  though  the  giant  of  the 
law  had  passed  on.  That  his  chief  and 
most  secret  sin  should  be  mentioned  aloud, 
to  prejudice  the  world  of  commerce  against 
him,  was  horrible.  His  mother  had  told 
on  him !  She  must  have  found  some  lines 
on  Winny's  slate  last  Sunday,  entitled 


ioo  THE   PROVIDER. 

Drumalough:  a  Lament  for  the  Fall  of  the 
'Three  Kings,  Written  at  Midnight.  Worra, 
worra  !  Hughey  was  descended,  on  the 
paternal  side,  through  a  succession  of 
ever- falling  fortunes,  from  a  good  many 
more  than  three  kings,  and  used  to  won 
der  where  their  crowns  and  sceptres  were, 
not  that  he  might  pawn  them,  either. 
The  O'Kinsellas  were  a  powerful  abori 
ginal  sept  in  the  old  days,  and  lived  in 
fortress  castles,  and  playfully  carried  off 
cattle  and  ladies  from  their  neighbors  of 
the  Pale.  Malachi  O'Kinsella's  mother, 
a  heroine  of  romance  who  ran  away  with 
a  jockey  lover,  and  never  throve  after, 
was  of  pure  Norman  blood,  and  most 
beautiful,  with  gray  eyes,  water-clear,  like 
Hughey's  own,  and  the  same  bronze- 
colored  hair ;  and  it  was  said  she  could 
play  the  harp  that  soft  it  would  draw 
the  hearing  out  of  your  head  with  ecs 
tasy  !  Now  the  junk-man  was  fatherly, 
and  presented  Hughey,  in  default  of  a 
situation,  with  a  consolatory  coin ;  but 
foregoing  events  had  been  too  trying  for 
the  boy's  nerves :  he  dropped  it,  and 
fled,  sobbing.  He  simply  could  n't  live 
where  his  po'try  was  going  to  rise  up 


THE   PROVIDER.  101 


against  him,  and  wail  like  a1  B.anshee- i ti 
the  public  ear.  He  charged,  in  his 
wrath  and  grief,  across  the  crowded 
bridge,  and  down  the  line  of  quays  east 
of  it,  straight  into  a  fat,  gray-headed, 
leather-aproned  person  directing  a  group 
of  sailors  unloading  a  boat. 

This  person,  sent  of  Heaven,  with  mi 
raculous  suddenness,  and  with  musical 
distinctness,  exclaimed:  " 'Ave  n't  I  been 
a-wishin'  of  'im,  and  directly  'e  runs  into 
me  harms !  Crawl  into  that  barrel,  sonny, 
and  if  you  'old  it  steady,  I  '11  'eave  you 
tuppence."  Hughey,  foreordained  like 
wise,  crawled  in.  When  he  came  out,  Mr. 
J.  Everard  Hoggett  looked  him  over,  from 
his  moribund  hat  to  his  slight  patrician 
ankle.  <c  I  likes  a  boy  wot 's  'andy,  and 
'as  little  to  sy,  like  you."  He  resumed 
critically,  "'E  don't  appear  to  be  from 
any  of  'Er  Marjesty's  carstles,  'e  don't. 
Perhaps  'e  might  like  to  'ang  about  'ere, 
and  earn  three  bob  a  week  ?  "  Hughey 
hugged  his  twopenny  piece,  blushed, 
trembled,  twisted  his  legs  in  the  brown 
trousers  too  big  for  him,  and  replied  in 
gulps:  "O  sir!  Yes,  sir."  Whereby 
his  annals  begin. 


102  THE  PROVIDER. 

\ 

"  This-  perfectly  amazing  luck  befell  to 
wards  the  end  of  May.  Mr.  Hoggett, 
going  home,  beckoned  him,  took  him 
into  a  little  eating-house,  sat  him  down, 
paid  for  a  huge  order,  and  departed. 
"There's  a  couple  o'  lion  cubs  hinside 
wot  ought  to  be  your  westcot,  needs  'am 
and  heggs.  Fill  'em  full ;  and  mind  you 
come  to-morrow  at  a  quarter  to  ight. 
I  '11  'ave  no  lyzy  lubbers  alongside  o'  me." 
With  which  fierce  farewell,  and  disdain 
ing  thanks,  Mr.  Hoggett  faded  wholly 
away. 

Hughey,  half-dazed,  sat  at  a  table 
alone,  sniffing  celestial  fragrances  from 
the  rear,  with  the  joy  in  his  breast  jump 
ing  like  a  live  creature  in  a  box.  To 
quiet  it,  while  he  waited,  he  took  up  a 
torn  journal  which  was  lying  on  the  near 
est  chair.  At  first,  what  he  read  seemed 
to  have  no  meaning,  but  when  some 
moments  had  passed,  still  odorous  only, 
and  non-flavorous,  Hughey's  collected 
and  intelligent  eye  had  taken  in  the  dra 
matic  political  crisis,  the  stocks,  the  Afri 
can  news,  the  prospects  of  Irish  literature, 
and  the  latest  London  wife-beating.  On 
the  advertisement  page,  one  especial  para- 


THE   PROVIDER.  103 

graph  in  sensational  print  rooted  his  at 
tention.     This  was  it:  — 

"SERVANTS  AND  APPRENTICES, 
ATTENTION  !  Here  is  the  best  Chance  of 
your  lives.  It  will  Never  come  again.  Trade 
with  us,  and  you  lay  the  FOUNDATION  of 
your  FORTUNE  !  With  every  sixpenny  worth 
of  goods  bought  of  us  on  any  Saturday  night, 
we  give  a  COUPON  on  the  Ninth  anti-Sas 
senach  Bank  of  Belfast.  Fifty  of  these  entitle 
the  Bearer  at  the  end  of  the  year  to  a  gift  of 
TEN  POUNDS  IN  GOLD!  !  Honesty 
the  best  Policy  our  motto.  Best  Material  at 
Lowest  Prices  ;  come  and  see.  Do  not  Neglect 
your  own  GOOD.  McClutch  &  Gullim,  Linen- 
drapers,  No.  19 St." 

Hughey,  the  innocent  prospective  capi 
talist,  took  a  stubby  pencil  from  the  only 
sound  pocket  in  his  habiliments,  and  be 
gan  to  figure  on  the  margin  of  the  paper ; 
for  he  had  an  inspiration.  "  Mother 
would  be  thundherin'  rich  !  "  was  what 
flashed  into  his  mind.  Before  he  had 
done  with  his  emergency  arithmetic,  ham 
and  eggs,  with  all  their  shining  train, 
were  set  before  him.  With  them,  he 
gallantly  swallowed  his  conscience,  for 
Hughey,  like  a  nobler  Roman  before  him, 


104  THE   PROVIDER. 

was  resolving  to  be  gloriously  false,  and, 
for  piety's  sake,  to  trade  his  soul.  He 
foresaw  vaguely  that  he  would  not  be  al 
lowed,  out  of  his  royal  wages  of  three 
shillings,  to  spend  full  half  every  Satur 
day  night,  at  McClutch  and  Gullim's  ; 
yet  to  do  it  was  the  imperative  thing  now, 
and  that  he  felt  impelled  to  do  it  was  his 
own  super-private  business,  and  his  war 
rant.  Therefore  would  he  keep  his 
secret  close,  and  make  what  excuse  he 
might.  He  could  not  even  think  of  ask 
ing  advice  ;  how  should  any  one  else  be 
able  to  realize  how  he  must  act  towards 
his  mother  ?  The  angels  had  given  her 
into  his  hands ;  and  he  knew  at  last 
what  was  to  be  done  for  her.  She  should 
be  rich  and  gay,  and  have  a  coach,  per 
haps,  like  a  real  lady  ;  and  Danny  should 
have  a  goat,  and  a  sash  with  stripes  in  it, 
like  the  little  twin  Finnegans  ;  and  the 
Misses  Honora  and  Winifrid  O'Kin- 
sella  should  walk  abroad  with  parasols  ! 
Proper  manoeuvring  now  would  fetch 
twenty-five  pounds  sterling  next  sum 
mer.  But  he  would  hide  away  what  he 
bought,  and  never  tell  until  the  beatific 
hour  when  his  mother  should  have  the 


THE   PROVIDER.  105 

money,  and  the  linen,  and  the  truth  about 
them,  all  together  ! 

Hughey  went  home  in  a  series  of 
hops  and  whirls,  like  a  kitten's.  He 
brought  a  flood  of  riotous  sunshine  in 
with  him.  It  was  supper-time;  the 
children  had  each  a  ha'penny  bun,  and 
some  tea.  Mrs.  O'Kinsella  was  lying 
down,  with  an  ache  between  her  lungs 
and  her  spine,  after  a  long  day's  lifting 
and  scrubbing.  She  felt  the  good  news, 
before  the  child  spoke.  "  O  mother ! 
't  is  the  most  illigant  thing's  happened: 
ye  niver  heard  the  loike."  Hughey's 
pale  comely  little  face  was  radiant. 

"  Phwhere  is  ut,  and  phwhat  d'  ye  get, 
dear?"  Then  Hughey  screwed  up  his 
courage,  and  told  his  only,  his  masterly 
lie:  "  North  Wall,  mother;  and  a  shil- 
lin*  and  six  every  week."  "  A  shillin'  and 
six  !  "  shrieked  Nora.  "  O  Hughey  !  " 
But  the  critic  for  whose  opinion  he  cared 
was  not  quite  so  enraptured.  She  smiled, 
and  praised  him,  but  took  it  too  tamely, 
her  son  thought.  However,  he  reflected 
that  she  little  knew  the  felicities  in  store. 

In  the  morning,  his  career  began,  and 
it  maintained  itself  with  vigor,  inasmuch 


io6  THE   PROVIDER. 

as  by  the  autumn  he  was  of  real  value  to 
his  employers.  He  had  many  duties 
and  some  trusts.  His  orders  all  came 
directly  from  the  benevolent  bluff  Mr. 
Hoggett,  or  from  his  mild  reflection  and 
under-study,  a  small,  bald,  capable  head- 
clerk  from  the  north,  who  was  known 
as  Jibtopsails  ;  for  what  reason,  Hughey 
could  never  divine,  unless  it  was  that  his 
ears  were  uncommonly  large  and  flapping. 
Jibtopsails  sent  him  here  and  there  with 
parcels  and  messages,  and  he  had  been 
faithful ;  he  had  made  no  grave  mistake 
yet,  nor  had  he  been  unpunctual.  But 
every  Saturday  of  his  life  saw  him  posing 

as  a  purchaser  at  19 Street,  where 

a  hard-featured  old  woman,  supposed 
mother  of  the  supposed  junior  partner, 
served  him  always  with  the  same  ironi 
cally  deferent,  "  Good  day,  sir ;  and  what 
can  I  show  you  ?  "  Jibtopsails  inquired 
occasionally  after  the  health  of  Hughey's 
family,  particularly  after  Hughey  had 
told  him  that  Mrs.  O'Kinsella  was  not  so 
well  as  she  used  to  be.  For  the  rest,  the 
sympathy  of  that  gentle  cynic  made  the 
child's  blood  run  cold :  he  had  such  a 
paralyzing  fear  that  Jibtopsails  might  call 


THE   PROVIDER.  107 

there  at  the  house,  and  talk  to  his  mother, 
and  say  something  about  three  shillings 
a  week  !  Kind  people  in  the  parish,  if 
they  knew,  would  bring  her  in  wood,  and 
coal,  and  wine  ;  but  again,  in  the  hallucin 
ation  of  his  jealous  determined  heart,  the 
boy  prayed  passionately  that  they  might 
not  know,  and  that  he  alone  should  be  the 
deliverer.  The  dread  of  his  secret  being 
found  out,  little  by  little  made  his  life  in 
tolerable.  He  had  grown  older  since  he 
had  that  to  cherish  in  his  bosom,  and  it 
seemed  less  delicious  than  while  as  yet  it 
was  nothing  but  a  dream. 

His  mother  broke  down,  and  could 
toil  no  longer.  Mrs.  Drogan,  who  lived 
downstairs,  began  to  come  up  with  her 
mending,  and  sit  between  the  bed  and 
the  window.  Nora  was  clever,  for  so 
young  a  girl;  but  she  stumbled  a  great 
deal  in  her  roomy  charity  boots,  and  had 
to  be  scolded  for  awkwardness  by  Mrs. 
Drogan,  who  had  brought  up  sixteen 
rebels,  and  was  disposed  to  command. 
As  for  Winny  and  Dan,  they  made  a 
noise,  and  therefore  had  to  be  exiled  to 
the  street,  foul  and  dangerous  as  it  was, 
almost  all  day,  while  the  invalid  slept  the 


1 08  THE   PROVIDER. 

sleep  of  utter  exhaustion.  It  occurred 
often  to  Hughey,  and  with  increasing 
force,  that  to  secure  a  future  good,  he 
was  doing  a  very  vicious  wrong;  that  it 
would  be  far  better  for  his  mother  to 
have  the  money  now,  to  provide  com 
forts  and  make  her  well,  than  for  her  to 
do  without  it  now,  and  be  too  feeble  in 
consequence  to  enjoy  it  when  it  would 
come,  all  in  a  lump.  Heavy  and  sharp 
was  this  dilemma  to  the  little  fellow3  as  he 
labelled  the  great  bales,  or  set  Mr.  Hog- 
gett's  dusted  ledgers  back  on  their  shelves. 
"Phwhat  ought  I  be  doin'?"  he  would 
groan  aloud,  when  he  was  alone.  If  he 
confessed  to  his  mother,  and  handed  over 
hereafter  the  total  of  his  wages,  there  was 
an  end  to  the  big  income  sprouting  and 
budding  wondrously  at  Belfast,  the  in 
come  which  would  be  hers  yet,  with  ever 
so  little  patience.  But  if  he  should  not 
confess,  and,  meanwhile,  if  she  should  not 
recover,  —  what  would  all  the  world's 
wealth  be  then  to  poor  Hughey? 

October  was  damp  and  dispiriting ; 
Mrs.  O'Kinsella  coughed  more,  but  ap 
parently  suffered  little.  Hughey  still 
brought  her,  week  by  week,  his  pittance 


THE   PROVIDER.  109 

of  a  shilling  and  sixpence.  Ill  as  she  was, 
her  alert  instinct  divined  that  something 
ailed  him  ;  she  pitied  him,  and  worried 
about  him,  and  kissed  his  tears  away  with  a 
blessing,  very  often.  Doctor  Nugent  was 
called  in  for  the  first  time,  one  rainy 
noon.  He  told  Mrs.  Drogan,  lacon 
ically,  that  his  patient  was  going  to  die, 
and  stopped  her  gesture  of  remonstrance. 
"  Say  nothing  to  those  children  of  hers," 
he  added,  aside,  on  the  threshold  ;  "there 
is  no  immediate  need  of  it,  and  the  eldest 
looks  melancholy  enough  without  it." 

But  the  eldest  was  at  his  elbow.  With  a 
still  ardor  painful  to  see,  he  raised  himself 
close  to  the  tall  doctor,  and  whispered  into 
his  ear.  "  Phwhat  wud  save  me  mother? 
Wudn't  money  do  it,  MONEY?" 
The  boy  looked  so  thrillingly,  impres 
sively  earnesfthat  the  doctor  rose  to  the 
occasion.  "  Perhaps  !  That  is,  a  win 
ter  in  France  or  Italy  might  delay  the 
end.  But  dear  me  !  how  on  earth  — " 
His  voice  wavered,  and  he  hurried  down. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  office,  Hughey 
crossed  Augier  Street,  and  stalked  into 
McClutch  and  Gullim's.  He  had  busi 
ness  with  the  old  woman,  imminent  busi- 


i  io  THE   PROVIDER. 

ness.  Would  the  Ninth  anti-Sassenach 
Bank  of  Belfast  advance  half  of  an 
annual  interest  ?  that  is,  would  they  al 
low  him,  Hugh  O'Kinsella  of  Dublin, 
merchant's  errand-boy,  what  was  due  on 
his  receipts  of  purchases  up  to  date  ? 
He  found  that  circumstances  over  which 
he  had  no  control  prevented  his  waiting 
until  May  :  please  might  he  draw  out  the 
eleven  odd  pounds  now  ?  The  old  woman 
had  recently  had  other  queries  of  that 
nature,  which  proved  that  the  victims 
were  getting  restless ;  that  it  would  soon 
be  advisable,  in  short,  to  strike  camp, 
and  betake  herself  and  her  nefarious  con 
cerns  to  Leeds  or  Manchester.  Her  sour 
ness  vented  itself  promptly  on  Hughey. 
Decidedly,  the  Ninth  anti-Sassenach  Bank 
would  do  nothing  of  the  sort ;  it  was 
against  the  rules ;  it  never  advanced  cash 
except  in  case  of  death,  when  coupons 
from  McClutch  and  Gullim's  would  hold 
good  for  a  life-insurance  policy  to  the 
corpse's  relatives.  "And  now  g'long  to 
the  divil  wid  ye,  ye  limb  !  "  concluded 
Mrs.  Gullim,  in  a  burst  of  vernacular 
indignation. 

Hughey  fairly  reeled  out  to  the  pave- 


THE   PROVIDER.  in 

ment,  with  wheels  humming  in  his  brain, 
and  a  large  triangular  rock,  sharper  than 
knives  and  smeared  with  poison  (a  not 
unfamiliar  rock,  of  late),  lodged  in  the 
middle  of  his  throat.  As  he  turned 
down  the  windy  North  Wall,  among 
the  sleek  cattle  waiting  for  exportation, 
and  pushed  open  the  warehouse  door 
by  the  Liffey,  Jibtopsails  took  his  pen 
from  behind  his  capacious  ear,  and  peered 
over  his  spectacles. 

"  Cead  mille  failthe^    Brian    Boruihme ! 

and  how  is  the  royal  fam ."      He  got 

no  further;  the  young  face  opposite  was 
so  awry  with  the  spirit's  mortal  anguish 
that  Jibtopsails  was  truly  sorry  he  had 
tried  to  be  jocose.  It  was  almost  a  first 
offence. 

And  now,  with  much  introspection, 
and  heart-searching,  and  resolve,  Hughey's 
tragedy  gathered  itself  together.  On 
Sunday,  after  church,  he  had  occasion 
to  go  out  of  town.  As  he  wished  to 
deal  with  Nora,  he  offered  to  give  her  a 
ride  on  the  tram  :  a  species  of  entertain 
ment  which  she  accepted  with  enthu 
siasm.  When  they  were  at  the  end  of 
their  route,  they  set  forth  on  foot,  up-hill, 


ii2  THE   PROVIDER. 

over  two  miles  of  exquisite  moorland,  to 
the  house  of  the  retired  first  mate  of  the 
Grace  Greeley,  who  was  summoned  by 
the  firm  of  Hoggett  as  witness  in  a  law 
suit.  Nora  was  in  her  usual  spirits,  and 
her  brother  tried  to  wait  until  they  should 
show  signs  of  flagging.  O  the  heavenly 
freedom  of  the  country !  the  pleasant 
smell  of  damp  leaves  !  But  Hughey's 
heart  would  not  rise.  As  they  passed 
the  sheep-folds,  the  pretty  huddled  crea 
tures  made  Nora  laugh,  standing  still, 
agape,  in  her  blue  faded  frock  ;  and  he 
grabbed  her  roughly  by  the  arm,  albeit 
his  sad  forbearing  tone  was  not  rough. 
"  D'  ye  love  me  at  all,  Nora  ?  " 

"That  Oi  do,  Hughey  O'Kinsella; 
and  ye  need  n't  be  scrunchin'  of  me  to 
foind  ut  out." 

"Nora!" 

"Phwhat  is  ut  ?  " 

"  There  's  somethin'  Oi  do  be  bound 
to  say  to  ye."  A  pause. 

ce  Can  ye  keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Shure,  Oi  can." 

"'Tis  tumble." 

"Niver  ye  moind,  Oi'll  keep  ut !  " 
said  the  loyal  other. 


THE   PROVIDER.  113 

Hughey  lifted  his  face  to  the  sweet 
blowy  autumn  afternoon,  took  breath, 
and  increased  his  pace.  "  Mother  is 
loike  to  be  doyin'  soon.  Maybe  ye 
did  n't  hear  o'  that.  But  she  cud  live 
a  hunderd  year  if  ut  was  n't  so  cruel 
poor  we  are.  Oi  've  been  a-thinkin' 
wan  reason  of  ut  is  she  has  too  many 
childher.  'Tis  good  little  Rosy  is  with 
the  saints.  Childher  all  eats  and  wears 
clothes,  and  isn't  much  use.  If  mother 
wasn't  ill,  there 'd  be  nothin'  the  mat- 
ther  wid  me  ;  we  cud  go  on  along,  and 
Oi  'd  have  power  to  do  the  beautiful 
things,  Nora  dear.  Ye'd  all  be  proud  as 
paycocks  o'  me  whin  next  the  cuckoo  '11 
be  in  the  green  bush  down  be  the  Bar 
row  ;  only  mother  wud  be  undher  the 
ground.  So  't  is  long  before  that  Oi 
must  be  doin'  phwhat  Oi  'm  meanin'  to 
do.  Now  's  the  toime  for  her  to  be 
cured,  and  the  toime  for  me  to  behave 
the  usefullest  to  her  is  to-morrow,  just 
afther  Oi  'm  dead." 

The  younger  child  was  bewildered, 
over-awed.  tc  May  the  Lorrud  have 
mercy  upon  your  sowl,  Hughey  !  "  she 
murmured  with  vague  solemnity,  taking 


ii4  THE   PROVIDER. 

in  the  legendary  word  cc  dead  "  and  noth 
ing  else.  Her  light  feet  ran  unevenly 
beside  his,  up  the  slope  and  down  the 
hollow,  and  over  stiles  and  pasture-walls, 
bright  with  their  withering  vines.  She 
was  all  ear  when  her  brother  began  again, 
irrelevantly  and  more  softly,  on  his  tre 
mendous  theme,  so  old  now  to  his 
thoughts  that  he  was  conscious  of  no 
solecism  in  the  abrupt  utterance  of  it. 
"  Whin  ye  dhrown,  ye  niver  look  bad  at 
a  wake.  A  man  kilt  in  the  battle  looks 
bad,  but  not  a  dhrowned  man.  'T  is 
grand  to  be  a  marthyr  to  your  counthry  ; 
howsomiver,  the  guns  is  n't  convanient, 
and  Oi  must  hould  to  the  wather.  The 
rest  Oi  can't  tell,  becaze  ye  're  a  woman, 
and  wud  n't  undhersthand ;  but  there's 
pounds  and  pince  in  ut,  and  't  is  the 
foine  thing  intoirely  for  mother."  He 
turned  upon  her  his  most  searching  gaze. 
"  Ye  '11  be  constant  and  koind  to  her, 
now  ?  Ye  '11  be  runnin'  and  bringin'  her 
a  chair,  and  takin'  the  beef  out  o'  your 
mouth  for  her  as  long  as  ye  live  ? 
(Shure  Oi  forgot  there's  goin'  to  be  tons 
o'  beef  for  yez  all.)  Promus  me,  Nora." 
She  looked  at  him,  and  her  wide  blue 


THE   PROVIDER.  115 

eyes  filled ;  and  presently  she  sank  down 
all  in  a  heap,  her  face  in  the  grass,  her 
heels  in  the  air.  It  looked  like  revolt ; 
but  it  was  regret,  or  rather  the  utter 
helplessness  of  either.  The  boy  never 
flinched.  "  Promus  me,  Nora."  "  Oh, 
Oi  do,  brother  Hughey,  Oi  do  !  "  she 
sobbed.  He  stood  by  her  a  moment, 
then  with  firmness  followed  the  path  out 
of  sight,  his  slender  withdrawing  figure 
significant  against  the  sky. 

When  he  came  back,  the  anxious 
Nora  was  on  the  road,  whence  she 
could  see  far  and  wide.  Little  was  said 
as  they  returned  home,  through  ways 
thickening  with  cabs  and  passers-by. 
But  skirting  Dean  Swift's  dark  Cathe 
dral,  they  heard  the  treble  voices  at  even 
song  in  the  choir,  and  the  grave  sweetness 
of  Tallis'  old  music  seemed  to  thaw 
Hughey's  blood.  He  drew  his  sister 
closer  as  they  walked,  and  bent  his  curls 
over  her.  He  had  received  a  fresh  illu 
mination  since  he  spoke  last. 

"  You  're  what  mother  needs,"  he  whis 
pered,  "  and  so  's  Dan,  seein'  he 's  no 
bigger  than  a  fairy.  But  Oi  'd  be  bet- 
ther  away,  and  so  'd  Winny,  for  the 


ii6  THE   PROVIDER. 

sake  o'  leavin'  plenthy  to  eat  and  plen- 
thy  o'  room.  Ye '11  give  me  Winny  in 
her  little  coat  whin  Oi  ax  ye  to-noight, 
will  ye,  Nora  ?  "  The  child  glanced  up 
mournfully  at  her  ruling  genius,  without 
a  word,  but  with  a  look  of  supernatural 
submission.  They  went  up  the  rickety 
stairs,  arm  in  arm. 

Mrs.  O'Kinsella,  who  had  had  a  trying 
day,  had  just  said  to  Mrs.  Drogan,  rising 
with  a  view  to  supper  for  her  husband  : 
<c  Oi 'm  of  that  moind  meself.  Johanna 
Carr  'd  be  a  widdy  contint  in  her  ould 
age,  if  she'd  had  childher,  if  she'd  had  a 
son  loike  Hughey.  Me  blessid  darlint! 
he 's  gould  an'  dimonds.  By  the  grace 
o'  God  Almighty,  Oi  cud  bow  me  head 
if  He  tuk  the  rest  away  from  me,  but 
He  cud  n't  part  me  and  the  bhoy,  me 
and  the  bhoy."  She  began  to  cough 
again. 

Her  son  asked  to  sit  up  late.  "  Oi 'd 
be  writin',  mother,"  he  pleaded.  Her 
pride  in  him  came  to  her  poor  thin 
cheeks.  " 'T  is  a  Bard  ye '11  be  yet, 
loike  the  wans  your  father  read  about  in 
the  histhory  !  "  Hughey  knew  he  had 
been  misunderstood ;  but  trifles  were 


THE   PROVIDER.  117 

trifles,  and    must   be  ignored,    now   that 
the  hour  of  action  had  struck. 

Having  taken  off  his  shoes,  he  sat  down 
in  the  broken  chair  by  the  table,  with  his 
pencil,  and  the  paper  which  Jibtopsails 
had  given  him.  The  inmates  of  the  room 
were  all  unconscious  in  half  an  hour,  ex 
cept  himself  and  Nora.  She,  in  a  fever 
of  excitement,  kept  vigil,  lying  as  usual 
since  consumption  had  come  openly  under 
their  roof,  between  Winny  and  the  baby. 
Winny,  dirty,  hungry,  and  tired  out 
with  dancing  to  a  hurdy-gurdy,  had 
fallen  asleep  in  her  clothes.  Nora  did 
not  require  her  to  undress.  These  were 
the  three  letters  which  Hughey  wrote. 

Mr.  Everard  Hoggett,  Limited. 

DEAR  SIR  :  Thank  you  for  being  kind  to 
me.  1  was  fond  of  you.  I  hope  you  won't  be 
out  of  a  boy  long.  There  do  be  a  very  honest 
boy  named  Mickey  McGooley  goes  to  my 
school  I  used  to  go  to.  He  has  a  iron  foot, 
but  he  is  good-looking  in  the  rest  of  him.  I 
think  he  would  come  if  you  asked  him.  Please 
tell  the  other  gentilmen  I  won't  forget  him 
either. 

Your  respeckful  friend, 

HUGH. 


ii8  THE   PROVIDER. 

Ninth  Anti-Sassenach  Bank,  Belfast,  Ireland. 

SIR  :  My  mother  she  is  named  Mrs.  M. 
O'Kinsella,  will  send  you  the  papers  from 
McClutch  and  Gullim.  As  I  will  be  dead  you 
pay  my  money  please  to  her.  I  let  you  know 
now  so  that  it  will  be  all  rite.  It  began  last 
May  28th  and  stops  Saturday,  October  2ist. 
Yours  truly,  hoping  you  will  send  it  soon, 
Yours, 

H.   O'KlNSELLA. 

ji ST.,  DUBLIN. 

October  22nd,  1893. 

DEAR  MOTHER  :  You  must  cheer  up  and  not 
cough.  You  can  go  to  France  or  somewhere. 
You  will  find  a  heap  of  lengths  of  linen  stuff  in 
a  box  under  the  steps  of  old  Tom's  shop.  He 
doesn't  know  about  it.  It  is  mine  and  the 
nicest  they  is,  and  if  you  don't  be  wanting  it, 
you  can  sell  it.  Then  you  look  in  the  lining 
of  Danny's  cap,  and  find  some  bank  papers, 
and  you  send  them  to  the  Ninth  anti-Sassenach 
Bank  in  Belfast  and  it  will  send  you  nigh  twelve 
pound  gold.  You  will  find  Winny  and  me  by 
Richmond  Bridge,  and  it  will  not  be  so  expen- 
cive  without  us.  I  hope  you  won't  be  low  for 
me,  for  Nora  says  she  will  be  good.  Dear 
mother,  I  dident  know  any  other  way  to  make 
you  happy  and  well  at  this  present.  Goodbye 
from  your  loving  son, 

HUGH  CORMAC  FITZEUSTACE  LE  POER 

O'KlNSELLA. 


THE   PROVIDER.  119 

After  that  laborious  signature,  he  folded 
and  addressed  the  first  two  sheets,  and 
after  a  plunge  into  the  recesses  of  his 
pocket,  stamped  them.  The  last  one  he 
slipped  beneath  his  mother's  pillow.  He 
looked  at  her  wistfully,  lying  there  on  the 
brink  of  all  compensation,  at  last !  She 
turned  over,  and  sighed  feebly:  "  Go  to 
bed,  Hughey  dear."  He  did  not  dare 
to  kiss  her,  for  fear  she  should  become 
wide  awake.  Back  into  the  shadow  he 
shrank,  and  so  remained  a  long  time.  A 
dim  sense  of  defeat  stole  over  him,  like 
a  draught  through  a  crack,  from  a  wind 
which  pushes  vainly  without.  But  he  had 
never  in  his  life  hugged  any  thought 
whose  interest  centred  in  himself;  and 
immediately  his  whole  being  warmed 
again  with  the  remembrance  that  his  de 
feat  meant  victory  for  a  life  dearer  to  him 
than  his  own.  When  the  great  bell  out 
side  had  struck  two,  he  crept  across  the 
room. 

"  Is  she  ready,  Nora  ?  " 

"She  is,  Hughey." 

He  stooped  to  the  floor,  and  gathered 
the  drowsy  body  in  his  arms.  On  the 
landing,  one  floor  below,  the  little  sister 


120  THE   PROVIDER. 

cried  aloud.  <c  No,  no,  no,  no !  "  he 
crooned,  in  a  passion  of  apprehension : 
<c  Brother  will  show  Winny  the  bright 
moon.3' 

They  came  safely  to  the  street;  the 
moon  indeed  was  there,  flooding  the 
world  with  splendor.  When  Nora  had 
buttoned  Winny's  coat,  and  the  boy  had 
posted  his  letters,  they  took  her  by  either 
hand,  and  started. 

Hughey  had  planned  out  his  difficult 
campaign  to  the  end,  and  his  brain  was 
quiet  and  clear.  Passing  through  Church 
Street,  he  raised  his  hat  with  reverence, 
as  he  had  always  done  since  he  came  to 
Dublin,  to  a  blank  stone  on  the  south 
side  in  the  ancient  yard  of  Saint  Michan's; 
for  under  that  stone,  according  to  a  tradi 
tion,  Robert  Emmett's  sentinel  dust  re 
poses.  There  on  the  old  Danish  ground, 
at  the  crisis,  Winny's  fiery  Gaelic  temper 
came  again  to  the  fore.  Struck  with  the 
solitude  and  the  dark,  the  dread  faces  of 
unusual  things,  and  jostled  by  the  wind 
which  pounced  at  her  from  its  corner  lair 
on  the  north  bank  of  the  river,  she  hung 
back  and  rebelled.  <c  Let  me  go,  let  me 
—  go!  Hughey!  Oh !  .  .  ."  The  lit- 


THE   PROVIDER.  121 

tie  silver  lisp  arose  in  very  real,  in  irre 
sistible  alarm. 

Never  once,  in  all  his  mistaken  plan 
ning,  had  Hughey  paused  to  consider 
that  she  had  a  voice  in  the  matter.  If 
she  were  unwilling  to  die  for  his  dear- 
est,  why,  what  right  had  he,  Hughey, 
though  scornful  and  disappointed  be 
cause  of  it,  to  compel  her  ?  After  all, 
she  was  only  seven,  and  silly !  He 
looked  at  Nora  over  the  capped  head 
between  them.  Then  he  fetched  a  deep, 
deep  sigh,  and  the  tears  came  to  his  eye 
lids,  burned,  and  dried. 

They  went  on,  ever  slower;  and  at 
Richmond  Bridge  Hughey  spoke  to 
Winny,  as  he  felt  that  he  could  do  at 
last,  tenderly,  and  even  with  humorous 
understanding.  "Now  't  is  the  end  o' 
your  walk,  an'  ye '11  trot  home  wid  Nora, 
and  niver  moind  me  at  all,  dear.  Some 
day  she  '11  be  tellin'  ye  phwhat  ye  missed." 
But  to  Nora  herself  he  said  softly : 

"Take  care  o'  mother,  mavourneen." 

"Oi  will,  Hughey." 

She  kissed  him  twice;  her  smooth 
cheek  against  his  was  cold  as  a  shell.  He 

O 

made  a  gesture  of  dismissal,  which   she 


122  THE   PROVIDER. 

did  not  disobey;  and  he  watched  them  go, 
without  further  sign.  The  two  childish 
figures  were  swallowed  by  the  blue-black 
shadows,  and  the  pavement  under  their 
naked  feet  gave  forth  no  receding  sounds. 
Yet  Hughey,  bereft  of  them  so  quickly 
and  utterly,  listened,  listened,  tiptoeing  to 
the  central  arch  of  the  bridge. 

The  autumnal  Sabbath  breath  of  the 
slumbering  capital  floated  in  a  faint  white 
mist  against  the  brick  and  stone.  Every 
high  point  was  alive  with  light :  the  masts 
in  port,  the  roof  of  the  King's  Inns,  the 
Park,  the  top  of  the  Nelson  monument, 
the  Castle  standard,  the  nigh  summits 
of  the  gracious  Wicklow  hills.  Below 
were  the  dim  line  of  Liffey  bridges,  pro 
cessional  to  the  sea,  and  the  sad  friendly 
wash  of  the  chilly  water.  Clear  of  any 
regret  or  self-pity,  he  would  have  his  fare 
well  grave  and  calm,  and  he  would  set  out 
with  the  sign  of  faith.  So  he  knelt  down, 
in  prayer,  for  a  moment,  and  with  his  eyes 
still  closed,  dropped  forward. 

In  another  eternal  instant,  he  came 
into  the  air.  He  had  a  confused  sense  of 
being  glad  for  Winny,  and  otherwise  quite 
satisfied  and  thankful.  There,  next  the 


THE   PROVIDER.  123 

wall,  was  a  rotten  abandoned  raft,  a  chance 
of  life  within  clutch ;  he  saw  it,  and 
smiled.  Then  Hughey  sank,  and  the 
black  ebb-tide  took  him. 

Nora's  knowledge,  meanwhile,  was  too 
torturing  to  be  borne.  No  sooner  had 
she  left  her  brother  than  she  caught  the 
heavy  little  one  into  her  slight  arms,  and 
ran.  Breathless,  and  choked  with  sor 
row,  she  told  her  mother  all  she  knew, 
and  roused  the  Drogans,  who  in  turn 
called  up  the  Smiths,  the  Fays,  the  Hola- 
hans,  the  McCarthys.  From  right  and 
left  the  neighbors  swarmed  forth  on  a 
vain  and  too  familiar  trail  :  the  Spirit  of 
Poverty  flying  unmercifully  ever  to  the 
rescue  of  her  own,  she 

"that  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  rough  world 

Stretch  them  out  longer." 


Two  of  Hughey's  letters  had  to  go  un 
delivered  :  one  belonging  to  a  corporation 
which  never  existed,  and  one  to  a  heart 
broken  woman  who  set  sail  for  the  Isles 
of  Healing,  before  the  dawn. 

THE    END. 


THIS  BOOK  HAS  BEEN  PRINTED  DURING 
DECEMBER  1895  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND 
SON  OF  CAMBRIDGE  MASSACHUSETTS 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  PINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


MAR   28  1939 


LD  21-95m-7,'37 


YB  75708 


684083 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


LOVERS'  SAINT  RUTH'S 


LOUISE   IMOGEN   GUINEY 


